Allegiance
by mugglehugger
Summary: When eleven-year-old Ginny Weasley is sorted into Slytherin, she is thrust into a world where the line between good and evil is blurred and where the boy she was supposed to hate becomes the man she was never supposed to love. DG, AU.
1. The Beginning

Title: Allegiance

Summary: When eleven-year-old Ginny Weasley is sorted into Slytherin, she is thrust into a world where the line between good and evil is blurred and where the boy she was supposed to hate becomes the man she was never supposed to love. DG, AU.

Rating: M

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JKR.

* * *

><p><strong>Prologue<strong>

Draco Malfoy never expected to care for Ginny Weasley. Even at twelve, he had too many loyalties already: to his parents, to blood purity, to the Dark Lord that he had never seen but hoped would return. All of those allegiances left no room in his heart for a lonely, redheaded First Year from a family of blood traitors. So loving her hits him like a train.

And so does the realization that here, at the end of it all, the only promise of loyalty that really matters is the one he made on a cold winter night, in bed, with the sheets pulled up over his head and warm brown eyes on his own. The only vow of allegiance that truly binds him was sealed with three words whispered in the darkness.

To her.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 1: The Beginning<strong>

The book was shabby and worn around the edges. She turned it over in her hands, running her fingertips over the dark leather of the spine, before flipping it open. All of the pages were blank. Her brow furrowed as she flicked through the sheets of pale parchment. Nothing. How strange.

"Ginny! Dinner!"

She felt her stomach constrict. Harry was going to be at dinner. She would have to concentrate; she was _not_ going to put her elbow in the butter dish again. Her cheeks flamed at the thought. "Coming!" she called back, tossing the book aside and bounding down the stairs.

For the next week, the mysterious blank book lay on the floor of her room, only half visible under the bed, and she didn't give it a second thought.

* * *

><p>"Is Ginny feeling all right?"<p>

Ginny heard Harry's question before she saw them. She froze behind a tree, forgetting the stray cat she had chased out here. It turned its head to give her a superior look, then padded silently away on the fallen autumn leaves.

"Whaddya mean?" Ron replied. She heard the soft splashes of them moving in the pond on the other side of her tree.

"Oh, I dunno." She could picture Harry shrugging.

"I think dear Harry has noticed that our baby sister gets awfully red at dinners," put in Fred.

"And that whenever he's around, she can't seem to string three words together," added George.

Ginny's cheeks flushed.

"Oh, _that_," Ron said. "She fancies you, mate!" She heard a big splash, probably a teasing one.

"Why would she fancy _me_?" Harry said awkwardly.

"Ooooh, is that a blush I see?" George goaded. "Maybe ickle Harry _likes_ having an admirer?"

"Maybe he's got a crush on our dear sister, too!" Fred added.

Immediately, the twins launched into song. "Harry and Ginny kissing in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G! First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes a Puffskein in a Puffskein carriage!"

Ginny felt an embarrassed sort of enjoyment welling up inside her. Just hearing her brothers put her name and Harry's in the same sentence in _that_ way made her blush happily. Then Harry spoke.

"I do _not_ have a crush on her!" he said loudly, giving the twins a big splash. Ginny's stomach dropped.

"You expect us to believe you don't like that Ginny's head over heels in _luurve_ with you?" George teased.

"I don't like it!" Harry insisted earnestly. "I wish she didn't!"

"Are you saying our Ginny isn't good enough for you?" Fred said suddenly.

"I think he is, Fred!" George replied accusingly. "He's saying little Ginny Weasley isn't up to the standards of the great Harry Potter!"

"No!" Harry said frantically, voice rising in panic. "I didn't say that!"

"Oh, come on, Forge!" Ron said, coming to his best friend's defense. "You can't blame him, really. Ginny's right annoying!"

"That's not what I meant!" Harry said quickly, but Ginny didn't wait to hear any more.

Her cheeks were burning, and she was feeling the full force of the teasing and of Harry's rejection in the pit of her stomach. She wanted to stalk right out to the edge of the pond and hex them (her brand new wand was burning a hole in her back pocket), but ever since the enchanted Ford Anglia debacle, her mum had been taking a hard line on discipline. Underage magic of the violent kind she was considering would probably get her a list of chores as long as her leg. She had to get out of there before she did something rash.

She turned on her heel and started running as fast as she could back to the Burrow. As her feet pounded against the ground, the anger expanded in her stomach until she could feel it all the way up in her throat. Frustrated tears pricked at the corners of her eyes.

"Ginny, are you all right?" her mum said concernedly as she thrust open the kitchen door and flew up the stairs.

"I'm _fine_!" she yelled, throwing herself into her room and slamming the door loudly behind her.

She paced around her room, heart pounding. Her eyes fell on the much-read copy of _The Boy Who Lived_ sitting on the top of her dresser, and with a frustrated growl, she grabbed it and threw it to the ground. It landed on the floor next to her bed, and her eyes slid past it to the corner of the mysterious blank book that just barely protruded from beneath a bed sheet.

With a jolt of impulsiveness, she picked it up and went to her desk. Grabbing a quill, she flipped it open and began to write in bold, angry strokes on the first blank page.

_I hate all of them! I hate Harry and Fred and George and Ron! I wish I never had to see any of them again!_

She stopped, breathing hard, and stepped back, staring at her angry words slanted across the page. Just writing them down made her feel a little better, and she set down the quill.

And then her words began to sink into the page. Eyes wide, she watched her thoughts disappear into the parchment. And then new letters began to form where hers had been.

_Tell me more._

They were written in neat, black script, wholly unlike her frantic, messy scrawl. She picked up the book, turning it over in her hands. Where in the world –

She looked at the page again, only to see more ink appearing of its own accord.

_I'm Tom. What's your name?_

Ginny swallowed, but still she didn't move to respond. She stared at the parchment as more words materialized.

_Don't be afraid. I just want to be your friend._

Ignoring the suspicion in the pit of her stomach, she sank into her desk chair, and with a trembling hand, picked up her quill and wrote.

_I'm Ginny._

_Who are Harry and Fred and George and Ron?_

She hesitated before responding, but she replied: _Fred, George, and Ron are my brothers. Harry is Ron's friend. _She paused, then: _I've liked Harry for ages, and Fred, George and Ron just made fun of me for it. And Harry said he didn't like me back – I embarrass him._

_That's terrible. They shouldn't treat you that way._

Ginny felt a twinge of affection for the diary – for Tom. _They humiliated me_, she wrote.

There was a pause, and then, _You could get them back, you know._

She swallowed. _What do you mean? Like a prank?_

_Yes, exactly. Do you know of something they're afraid of?_

_Well, Ron's afraid of spiders._

_So put spiders in his bed. I bet he'll make a fool of himself when he discovers them._

Ginny couldn't help chuckling at the thought. _That would be pretty hilarious. But I've never really pulled a prank before. My mum gets pretty angry when we pull practical jokes on one another. Anyway, that's more Fred and George's style._

Another pause. _So make it look like they did it. You'll get all three of them back in one stroke._

_I have to admit that's a pretty good plan._

_Now we just have to find a way to humiliate this Harry character._

Ginny shook her head, then realized that Tom couldn't see her. _It wasn't his fault, really. My stupid brothers were teasing him._

_But he was part of it_, Tom insisted.

_No, it wasn't his fault._

_All right. It's up to you, after all._

Ginny smiled. Unlike everyone else, Tom took her opinions seriously. Her brow furrowed.

_Tom?_

_Yes?_

_How is it you can write back to me? You're a book, after all._

There was a long pause at that, and Ginny felt a surprising pang of fear in her belly. What if she had offended him somehow and now he wasn't going to write to her anymore? She breathed a sigh of relief when the ink materialized.

_I've been trapped in here for a long time, just waiting for someone to come and talk to me. I've been so lonely. I'm so glad we found each other. Aren't you?_

Ginny smiled at that. _Yeah, I'm happy too. I'm going to Hogwarts soon! I'm excited, but I've been so worried that I won't find any friends. But at least I'll have you. I hardly know anyone my own age, and I'm so nervous that the Sorting Hat won't put me in Gryffindor._

_You want to be in Gryffindor?_

_Yes, everyone from my family's been in Gryffindor. All six of my brothers, both my parents, everyone…_

_Tell me more._

* * *

><p>The next morning, Ginny woke early. She tucked a quill and her diary into the pocket of her coat and made her way quietly out of the Burrow. On the way, she grabbed a glass jar from the kitchen. She headed straight into the forest, scowling in the direction of the pond. The leaves were still dewy around her, making the cobwebs easy to spot. She plucked any spiders she saw gingerly off their webs and dropped them into the jar.<p>

Half an hour later, she'd collected two dozen fat arachnids, and she looked at them gleefully, tapping the glass with her fingertip. She screwed the lid on and headed home.

She kept the jar concealed in her top dresser drawer for the rest of the day, but after dinner, she made her move. Ron and Harry were playing chess in the living room, and George was sitting nearby, yelling taunts at the irate chessmen. The sound of the shower filtered down from upstairs. Fred must be in there: perfect. Percy was nowhere to be seen – probably studying in his room, as always. Her parents were busy cleaning up the dinner things. The coast was clear.

When no one was looking, she slipped up the stairs and straight into Fred and George's room. It was an unmitigated disaster zone. Their belongings were strewn everywhere – the actual carpet was hardly visible through the mess – and there were some suspicious-smelling potions bubbling on the corner of George's nightstand. Crossing the room on tiptoe, Ginny went to Fred's dresser. In a moment, she located his wand and pocketed it.

On the way back down the hall, she passed the bathroom and paused to press her ear against the door. Fred was singing a bawdy song inside and the shower was still running full force.

She retrieved the jar of spiders and climbed the stairs to Ron's bedroom. Inside, she skirted Harry's camp bed to get to Ron's bed. She unscrewed the lid and pointed Fred's wand at the eight-legged buggers. A whispered charm immobilized them, and another spell put a timer on the removal of the immobilization. At precisely eleven o'clock this evening, the arachnids would be able to crawl about again. A brilliant piece of magic, that second bit. Tom had given her the idea.

With a quick shake of the wrist, she emptied the jar out into Ron's bed and pulled the garish orange sheets over them. She carefully replaced the wand in Fred's room before bounding back downstairs.

"Going well, Ron?" she said, smiling brightly at her brother as she crossed the room and ensconced herself in the big armchair with a book.

He looked at her oddly, then shrugged. "Pretty well," he replied, "Harry's rubbish at chess."

"Hey!" his opponent protested. Ginny lifted her book high to cover her face as they continued their game. She was really going to enjoy this.

* * *

><p>Several hours later, she lay on her back in her bed, staring up at the ceiling. The clock on her wall quietly chimed eleven, and she strained her ears to hear. Two minutes later, she heard Ron's panicked yell of fear and Harry's accompanying shout. The light went on in the hall, and she heard her parents' frantic voices.<p>

Then her mother's screech of fury. "FRED! GEORGE!"

"Wha—? What's going on?"

"Whatever it was, we didn't do it!"

"WHO ELSE WOULD'VE PUT SPIDERS IN RON'S BED?"

"We don't know who it was, but it wasn't us!"

Her father's calmer, deeper voice cut into the fray. "Well there's an easy way to check. I'll write to the Ministry and get their record of underage magic done in this house tonight. That should solve matters." Ginny smirked to herself as they all traipsed down to the kitchen.

There was silence throughout the house as they waited for the Ministry to respond, and Ginny just stared at the strip of light filtering in under her doorway. She knew what the record would say.

Finally, after fifteen minutes, she heard her mother start screaming again. "YOU NEARLY GAVE RON A HEART ATTACK! YOU KNOW HOW SCARED HE IS OF SPIDERS!"

"Mum, we swear it wasn't us!"

"Don't try that with me, Fred! It says right here: spells performed on the night of August 26th by the wand of Frederick Gideon Weasley…."

The slightly lowered, and therefore muffled, sounds of Molly Weasley's yelling echoed throughout the house for almost an hour.

Ginny pulled her diary from beneath her pillow and flipped it open.

_Tom, it worked!_ she wrote.

_Well done, Ginny._

* * *

><p>Ginny was generally pretty pleased that her prank had worked. Ron didn't speak to Fred and George for the rest of their time at home, and the twins were given a horrible set of chores to complete.<p>

She did have one moment of guilt. It was the night before they were set to leave for Hogwarts, and her mum asked her right before bed to go remind Ron and Harry to pack their toothbrushes. When she went into their room, Harry was already under his covers, but Ron was hesitating before climbing into his own bed. She watched him gingerly lift his pillow and pull back all of his sheets, a slightly sheepish look on his face, and she knew he was checking for spiders. The sight made her chest constrict uncomfortably.

She stammered out her mum's reminder before scrambling from the room as fast as she could.

Before long, she found herself on Platform 9 3/4, excitement bubbling in her chest as she stared at the Hogwarts Express. She gripped her diary in her pocket. She'd almost forgotten it, and they'd had to turn the car around. Ginny felt her mum pat her shoulder reassuringly.

"Now don't forget to write to me and your father," Mrs. Weasley said, starting in on her list of reminders as Mr. Weasley stowed her trunk. "And make sure to listen to your professors and don't believe _anything_ Fred and George tell you."

"I _know_, mum," Ginny said. "Don't worry about me."

"We're not worried, Gin-bug," Mr. Weasley said, putting an arm around his wife. "Are we, Molly? Ginny's smart and independent. She'll be fine."

Her mum was starting to tear up, so Ginny nodded emphatically and smiled brightly. "I'll be fine, mum. Definitely."

"My youngest, off to school," Mrs. Weasley said wistfully. The train horn sounded.

"All right, Molly," Mr. Weasley said, rubbing his wife's arm. "Ginny needs to find a compartment. Bye, dear." He gave her a quick hug. Mrs. Weasley pulled her into a tight embrace, brushing a tear from the corner of her eye.

Ginny waved to her parents as the Express pulled out of the station. When they were out of view, she started down the train, peering into each compartment along the way. She spotted Fred and George chatting animatedly with some girls from their year and passed the compartment by. She saw some of Ron's school friends – Hermione, Neville Longbottom, and two others that she guessed were Seamus and Dean – and wondered vaguely where Ron and Harry had gotten to. Maybe buying something from the sweets cart?

"Out of the way, Weasley." She looked up at the snide voice. Draco Malfoy was staring down at her, arms crossed and an infuriating smirk on his lips. She scowled at him, remembering their run-in at Flourish and Blotts. A tall black boy and a dark-haired girl with a short nose stood behind him, looking at her superiorly.

She drew herself up to her full height and met the steely gray eyes. "An excuse me would have sufficed," she replied. A flicker of surprise crossed his face. He must have expected her to be meek without her father and brothers beside her. They stared at each other for several long seconds, both refusing to look away. Dislike ran between them like a charge.

"Hmph," he scoffed finally. "You should really learn to respect your elders."

"Sod off, Malfoy," she said fiercely, pushing past him.

She brushed the encounter from her mind as she came to the last compartment.

"Luna!" she said as she pulled the door open, unable to keep the relief out of her voice. The blonde girl looked up from the magazine on her lap and a wide smile broke slowly across her face.

"Ginny!" she said. "It's nice to see you in real life."

"What do you mean?" Ginny asked curiously as she settled into the seat across from Luna.

"Well, as neighbors, we only really see each other around the neighborhood. Now that we're going to Hogwarts…it seems more like real life, somehow. Don't you think?"

"You mean, like we're grown up?"

Luna cocked her head to one side and smiled brightly. "Something like that. If you don't mind, I'll finish reading this article. It's very important that I know how to avoid orange beezles at school, you know."

Ginny grinned. Luna had always been a bit odd, but Ginny found it endearing. "Let me know what the article says."

Luna retreated behind her paper, and Ginny brought her legs up to sit cross-legged in the seat. She fished Tom out of her pocket and began to write.

* * *

><p>"Ginevra Weasley!"<p>

Ginny exhaled and strode up to the front of the hall. She settled herself on the stool and saw Luna gives her a thumbs up from the crowd of First Years waiting below. She scanned the Great Hall. Fred, George, and Percy were watching her from the Gryffindor table, but she still didn't see Ron…or Harry. Hermione was giving her a wide, encouraging grin, and she tried to smile back as McGonagall set the Sorting Hat on her head.

"Ah, another Weasley," the hat said knowingly. "I know just where to put you. You Weasleys have been making things easy for me for years."

Ginny breathed a sigh of relief. _Gryffindor_.

"Happy about that, are you? But _wait_," the hat continued. "There's something else here…something very non-Weasley."

"What?" Ginny murmured, unable to keep the panic from her voice.

"I do like a surprise," it chuckled, as if it hadn't heard.

_Not Slytherin, not Slytherin, not Slytherin_, Ginny thought desperately, shutting her eyes to focus on that one thought.

"But there's something distinctly cunning about you, my dear."

_No there isn't! I don't belong in Slytherin!_ But even as she thought it, she pictured herself pouring the spiders across Ron's bed.

"Oh, but you do," the hat insisted, "That was quite a sly little prank you pulled with the spiders. And there's something deeper…whatever motivated you to scare your brother half to death and set someone else up to take the fall. Brilliant piece of work, that. Very scheming. You could be great in Slytherin."

Ginny was at a loss for words. And then, before she could protest, the hat bellowed out, "SLYTHERIN!"

There was no applause; the Great Hall was silent. Ginny knew it was with shock. Weasleys were always in Gryffindor, and even if they weren't, they were _never_ in Slytherin.

Heart pounding, she opened her eyes. Her brothers' mouths were hanging open in shock – Percy was red in the face and looked as if he might holler at the hat to try again. Hermione was looking at her pityingly.

Professor McGonagall seemed to recover herself. "Well, Miss Weasley, you'd better go take your seat," she said gently, patting Ginny's shoulder.

Ginny tore her eyes away from the disappointed faces. Numbly, she stood and started down the hall. She glanced up, looking for an empty seat at her new house table, but no one scooted over to make room.

She scanned the faces – most of them were unfamiliar…her family didn't know many Slytherins – and her eyes locked with Draco Malfoy's. He met her gaze, his brow furrowed with obvious confusion. And then to her complete surprise, he shifted ever-so-slightly to his left to make room for her between him and the pug-nosed girl.

Her eyes flicked down the table one more time, looking in vain for another seat, then she grit her teeth and slid onto the bench beside him. At the front of the hall, the next student had been placed in Hufflepuff, and the clapping drowned out the heavy silence that had followed her own sorting.

"What the hell _happened_, Weasley?" Malfoy said wonderingly. For once, his voice wasn't dripping with derision.

She stared at the wall behind the tall black boy across the table, still unable to believe what had just happened. _Slytherin_. She felt her stomach clench in panic. She was a _Slytherin_.

She swallowed thickly and didn't look at him as she answered. "I have no idea."

They didn't speak for the rest of the meal.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> So there's the beginning of my newest story! As you can probably tell, it's completely AU. It's also DG-centric, and will follow their relationship throughout their time at Hogwarts. Some years will go very quickly (with many time jumps) and others more slowly - I think you'll get the idea as we go along. It will also get darker and will earn its M rating down the line, so fair warning on that front. Let me know what you think!


	2. The Weasley Girl

**Chapter 2: The Weasley Girl**

The boys' dormitory was just as Draco remembered it, and a cursory glance at the belongings stacked next to his bed confirmed that the House Elves hadn't forgotten to bring anything up from the Express. His tawny owl had already been settled in the Owlery, and the cage sat empty on top of the trunk. Sliding the cage under his bed, Draco flipped the latch on his trunk and started to unpack.

"What's this?" Crabbe was saying from the bed beside him, snatching a framed photograph off of Theodore Nott's nightstand.

Nott grabbed for the picture, but Crabbe juggled it from hand to hand, a grin on his wide face.

"Who is it then, Nott?" he said mockingly.

"Probably his _girlfriend_," Goyle chimed in from the bed on Nott's other side.

"It's my mum," Nott replied, trying to dart around Crabbe's body to grab at the frame.

"You're putting a picture of your _mum_ on your nightstand? Oooh, does poor little Notty get homesick without his mummy?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Enough," he said sharply, turning on Crabbe and silencing Goyle's stupid laughter with a glare. "His mum is dead, and she was a friend of my family's."

Crabbe scowled, but he tossed the picture back at Nott, who caught it and turned back to his trunk without a word to any of the others.

Draco turned back to his own trunk, ignoring Crabbe's indignant mutterings. "That Weasley girl was a surprise, wasn't she?" Blaise said from the bed to his left.

"Well she is a Pureblood after all. Maybe she's not as nauseatingly goodie-goodie as the rest of them," Draco said easily, thinking of her sharp retorts at Flourish and Blotts and again on the train this morning. She had the famed Weasley temper all right, but it seemed she could also be sharp and cutting – and that was something he'd never encountered in her bumbling brothers. Maybe there was something to the hat's decision, after all, he mused.

"You should've seen Parkinson's face when you let her sit between you."

"I saw it," Draco replied.

"She wasn't happy."

"I gathered," he replied, still not looking up. He knew Blaise was trying to get an explanation out of him, but he didn't oblige. The truth was, she had seemed so fierce before, but in those few moments after the hat placed her in Slytherin, so had looked so…lost. And he had felt sorry for her. That's why he had moved over to make room for her at the table. But all that was much too sentimental, and he wasn't about to admit any of it to Blaise.

"Come on, then. Let's head back down," Draco said, nudging his now-empty trunk under the bed.

They descended the staircase into the Common Room. Pansy and Daphne Greengrass had commandeered a circle of seats. He flopped down beside Parkinson as Blaise, Crabbe, and Goyle took the remaining chairs.

"Oh, happy to sit next to me now, are you?" Pansy said crossly.

"It was one meal, Parkinson. And I hardly made you eat off the floor. There was one person between us," Draco drawled.

"A _person_ who happens to be a Weasley. Honestly, letting a Weasley sit next to you…," Pansy said, glowering.

"Aw, don't get your wand in a knot, Pans," Blaise cut in, "You know you're Draco's favorite girl. Isn't that right, Draco?"

Draco smiled easily in Pansy's direction. "Of course it is."

"Speaking of the Weasley girl…," Daphne said, nodding toward the girls' staircase. Ginny Weasley was at the bottom of the steps, worrying her bottom lip as she glanced around the room. A black book was clutched tightly in her left hand. She seemed to notice that the entire Common Room had turned to look at her, and Draco watched a pink flush creep up her neck to her cheeks. He observed her keenly as she shut her eyes for a moment and exhaled determinedly. She opened them again and strode firmly across the room to an empty armchair a few feet from where he and his friends were sitting. She situated herself, then opened her black book, took out a quill, and began to write.

Draco raised his eyebrows. A lesser girl would have holed herself up in her room and cried herself to sleep rather than face the hostile eyes of sixty Slytherins. It seemed that the lost look that he had seen in the Great Hall had been only a momentary lapse. Despite himself, Draco was impressed.

"She's got some nerve coming down here," Blaise observed. Draco's eyes were still tracking Ginny Weasley, and he saw her flush again. She was close enough to hear them, but she kept writing, a determined look on her face.

Pansy made a disapproving noise. "Well I for one don't know what that hat was thinking…putting a _Weasley_ in Slytherin. It's bad enough they let Mudbloods and blood traitors into Hogwarts, but into _Slytherin_? I bet your father won't be happy when he hears about this, will he Draco?"

"No," Draco agreed, still not taking his eyes off the redhead. "No, he won't."

Pansy smiled, satisfied, and she raised her voice a little louder as she continued, obviously warming to her subject. "I mean, honestly, the sort they let into this school. Did you know Granger's Muggle parents work with people's teeth or something disgusting like that. Can you imagine?"

Weasley's face was getting redder and redder with each word.

"And Longbottom's parents are completely 'round the bend…they're permanent residents of St. Mungo's. It's like pedigree doesn't even matter anymore!" she finished, exchanging a satisfied look with Daphne.

Weasley's voice cut in loudly. She had obviously had enough and had turned to glare at Pansy, eyes bright with anger. "Well, last I heard your father was under Ministry investigation for selling dragon dung on the black market, so I wouldn't get too high and mighty," she retorted.

Blaise actually laughed a little at that, and Daphne gasped. Parkinson's father was, in fact, under investigation for selling dragon dung, but it wasn't the sort of thing anyone dared bring up in front of her.

Pansy sprang to her feet, glaring daggers, and suddenly they were facing each other across five feet of space, their wands drawn. The Weasley girl had a fierce look in her eye that made Draco fairly certain her hexes would be nothing to trifle with. But Pansy had a year's worth of learning under her belt, not to mention some darker spells her father had taught her….

"How _dare_ you?" Pansy spat.

"What? Can't take what you dole out?" Weasley snorted derisively. "That's pretty pathetic, don't you think?"

Beside him, Blaise sucked in a breath. They both knew that would be the last straw for Parkinson. The older girl's cheeks flushed furiously, and she raised her wand.

On instinct, Draco sat forward and grabbed Pansy's arm to pull her back down. "For Merlin's sake, Parkinson, calm down, will you?" he said sharply. "You don't need Snape giving you detention before classes even start."

Pansy glared at him for a moment, but he just looked back, eyebrows raised. Finally, she huffed and sank back onto the sofa beside him.

Weasley was still standing, fury coming off of her in waves, and now her eyes slid over to glare at _him_. As if he hadn't just saved her from a nasty dark hex! Her expression was full of loathing, and it took a surprising amount of willpower to hold her gaze. He forced himself not to shift uncomfortably in his seat. Then, without saying another word, she stalked past them and down the passage that led out of the Common Room.

"The _nerve_ of that filthy little blood-traitor," Pansy hissed, clenching her fists.

"She's probably friends with Granger," Daphne put in. "Her brother is, anyway. And Longbottom too."

"Well everything I said was true," Pansy ground out.

"Of course it was, Pans," Daphne agreed, patting her friend's arm soothingly. Pansy looked slightly appeased, and Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes, suddenly feeling impatient and restless. Weasley's look had unnerved him somehow. All of her looks had been affecting him strangely today.

Abruptly, he stood. "And where do you think you're going?" Pansy said sharply.

He turned on her. "Do I have to explain my every move to you, Parkinson?" he replied harshly. "I'm going to make sure the Weasley girl doesn't lose us House points by being out after hours." Without waiting for her to respond, he strode out of the Common Room.

Weasley was no where in sight as he headed down the passageway and through the cellar wall into the hallway outside. At this time of night, the dungeons were chilly, and Draco shivered a little as the cold air hit him. Still no sight of her – he should've been able to spot that garish red hair easily. Where had she gotten to? And why was he following her anyway?

Just when he had decided he was acting like an insufferable moron, he heard muffled voices from around the corner. He stilled for a moment, then began to walk more quietly in the direction of the sound. As he came closer, he could make out the words.

"…and what are mum and dad going to think?" He recognized Ron Weasley's voice immediately. The git really had a unique way of sounding furious and borderline hysterical all at the same time.

"I don't know," Ginny was saying. "I haven't written to them yet, but I'm sure Percy's already spread the news."

"How could you let this happen, Ginny?"

"I didn't have a choice!" Now she sounded defensive.

"I've been doing some reading," another voice cut in. Granger, this time. "I haven't been able to find a case of someone being allowed to switch houses after the sorting, but I'm sure if we speak to Professor Dumbledore…."

"Doubtful," Ron interrupted. "I talked to Percy, and he said he's already checked with McGonagall. You've got yourself in a right mess, Ginny," he finished accusingly.

"You think I wanted this to happen? I'm the one stuck in Slytherin!" Ginny replied, voice rising. She sounded like she was fighting back tears.

Draco peered around the corner. Ginny was standing with her back to him, face-to-face with her red-faced brother. Granger was hanging back a little, and there was Potter beside her, of course. None of them could function without the other two glued to the hip, Draco thought derisively.

"WHAT EXACTLY IS GOING ON HERE?" a loud voice cut in from behind Weasley. Snape stepped into the light, his black robes swirling around him and his eyes flashing. Draco ducked back a little to be sure he wouldn't be seen.

"Really, Weasley, Potter," Snape continued, "Apparently almost getting _expelled_ earlier this evening was not enough to deter further rule-breaking. Perhaps another two detentions each for being out after hours will do the trick. And you'll get the same, Granger. For an insufferable teacher's pet like yourself, you do get in a great deal of trouble."

Granger began to protest vehemently, but Snape silenced her with a stern glare. "There will be no arguments. Miss Weasley, go back into the Common Room. You three, come with me."

"Hey!" Ron said loudly, "She was out after hours, too! Why is it just the three of us get detention?"

"_She_ was not lurking around other students' common rooms, Weasley. Now is two extra detentions enough or shall we add more?"

Ron made a face, but he fell silent and followed Snape down the hall away from Draco. Granger followed, but Potter hung back.

"Why didn't you just tell the hat you didn't want to be in Slytherin?" he asked Ginny in a low voice.

Draco saw her redden slightly as Potter spoke to her. So the littlest Weasley had a crush on the great Harry Potter, did she? Draco snorted. How quaint. That lowered his opinion of her somewhat, he thought. Then he realized that this was the first time he'd ever had an opinion of a Weasley that could even _be_ lowered.

Contemplating this, he completely missed Ginny's response. When he looked up, Potter was speaking again.

"The hat wanted to put _me_ in Slytherin too," he said. Well that was news. Harry Potter in Slytherin?

"Potter! Do you have wax in your ears? _Follow me_," Snape yelled from down the hall.

Potter turned his head and finished quickly. "But it gave me a choice, and I picked Gryffindor. Why didn't you?"

Ginny's eyes flashed angrily. "Well, the hat didn't give _me_ a choice, Harry," she said testily, and Draco smirked. Take that, Potter.

Potter shrugged and moved away, following Weasley and Granger out of sight around the corner. As soon as the others were out of sight, Ginny exhaled deeply and ran a weary hand over her face. She turned back in the direction of the Common Room…and nearly jumped out of her skin when she caught sight of him around the corner.

To her credit, she recovered herself quickly, and with a venomous glare, she pushed past him down the hallway.

"I wasn't aware that you enjoyed spying on private conversations, Malfoy," she said acidly as he fell into step beside her.

"Hardly," he replied, even though he _had_ been spying, albeit unintentionally. She snorted. "Not winning any popularity contests tonight, are you?" he continued.

"Sod off," she grumbled.

"Do you really want to alienate another person? I'm sure you could set some kind of record," he answered coolly.

She was silent for a moment as they moved through the dungeon, but then, to his complete and utter horror, her shoulders hunched and she began to cry. She swiped angrily at the tears and glared at him through watery eyes, just daring him to make a snide remark. They were stopped just outside the cellar wall that led to the Common Room passage.

"You'd better not go in there crying," Draco observed. "Pansy can smell weakness."

"I'm not crying," she said defensively, swiping at her face again.

"Oh, and I suppose the running nose and the tears all over your face are just part of your usual charm," he countered dryly.

She didn't reply, but her shoulders heaved a little with a sob, and before he quite knew what he was doing, he had reached out and put a hand on her shoulder. She flinched, which made him want to roll his eyes, but she didn't move away, and now that he'd done it he was committed to it. If he drew back now, he would look like a complete idiot.

To compensate, he gripped her shoulder rather tightly to dispense with any idea that he was trying to comfort her. He hoped she would assume that he was just holding her in place.

"If you're going to survive here, you're going to have to get control of yourself, Weasley," he said harshly, holding her gaze. "Slytherin isn't like your precious Gryffindor. No one's going to hold your hand and ask you if you're settling in all right. And nobody gives a damn about you. At all. Reputation is the only thing that matters."

"And here I thought it was blood status," Ginny said snidely.

"And Merlin knows you've got little enough of that," he replied without missing a beat. She glared. "So you'd better learn to keep your mouth shut in the Common Room. You've already made an enemy out of Parkinson, and trust me, you don't need any more. Start making some allies."

"Don't you mean friends?"

Draco smirked condescendingly. "We're obviously going to have to shake that Gryffindor naivete out of you."

She scowled at him suspiciously. "_We_?"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "You're _interesting_, Weasley. I want to see how you turn out, but that means I have to make sure you survive Pansy's wrath and make it through this year without transferring to Beauxbatons."

"I don't need your help," she said fiercely.

He regarded her coolly for a moment, then shrugged again and stepped back. He said the password, and stepped through the cellar wall. "Suit yourself," he said shortly. He headed back into the Common Room without a backward glance, leaving her gaping after him.

* * *

><p>Ginny thrust her book bag on the floor and collapsed onto the bed, swiping angrily at the corners of her eyelids. She hated that she was crying so much lately. At least none of the other first year Slytherin girls were in the dormitory. It had been enough to cry in front of stupid Draco Malfoy. She didn't need Bridget Avery, Rachel Rosier, or the reserved Carrow twins to see her break down too.<p>

She stared up through watery eyes at the green and silver canopy. These days, she was surrounded by green and silver – the bed hangings, the Common Room, even her robes and scarf. The red and gold sweater her mum had knitted her over the summer had had to be shoved to the bottom of her trunk.

And it looked like she would be stuck with green and silver for the next seven years of her life. She had finally gone to see Professor Dumbledore to ask him – beg him, really – to let her transfer into any other House. _I'm sure if you just give me another chance with the hat, I can make it change it's mind_, she had said desperately.

_Unfortunately, Miss Weasley_, the Professor had replied, _that's just the problem. You can't force the hat to do anything that it does not wish to do. It's role is to look into your mind and heart and determine in which House you belong._

_But I don't belong in Slytherin!_ The same words she had said to the hat on the night of the Sorting. They worked just as well as they had then.

_Apparently you do. It may not be what you expected, but perhaps in seven years time you will look back and appreciate the hat's decision._

_But the hat doesn't even know me! I'm only eleven – how can it possibly know that I belong in Slytherin!_ Now she was just babbling, echoing Percy and Fred and George and Ron.

_We sort precisely when we mean to sort, Miss Weasley._

_But maybe you sort too soon!_

Dumbledore's eyes had sparkled strangely at that, and he had looked distant for a moment, as if he was thinking of someone else. But then he had shaken his head. _You will be fine, Miss Weasley. Many accomplished witches and wizards have come out of Slytherin. You just need to put your assumptions aside and befriend those around you._ He should have said "make alliances," Ginny thought.

She had given the Headmaster one last pleading look, but he had merely shaken his head again, and Ginny's hopes had fallen around her.

Swiping at her eyes again, she pulled Tom from her robes and flipped him open.

_I'm stuck in Slytherin for good_, she wrote, and the words seemed to sink into the parchment with harsh finality.

_I don't know why you keep complaining about that. Slytherin is a great house_, Tom replied, and Ginny was taken aback. Tom had never been impatient with her before.

_Slytherins are cruel and unfriendly_, she wrote, feeling defensive.

_They're better than any of the others._

_Well I hope you're right. Dumbledore thinks I should start making friends with them._

_Dumbledore is an old fool_, Tom said, and for a moment she thought she could almost hear him spitting the words into her ear, and an image flashed unbidden across her mind – a much younger Dumbledore, beard not yet grey. She shook herself, but Tom was writing again. _You don't need friends. You have me._ The ink blotted at the end of his word as though he had pressed a quill hard against the page, letting anger seep onto the parchment.

_But you just said –_

_Why must you be so dense, Ginny?_ Tom wrote. _I said Slytherins are better than the rest, but you don't need friends. All you need is me._

The words seemed to crackle on the page with a strange energy, almost alive, and Ginny suddenly felt incredibly uneasy. What had her dad always told her? _Never trust anything that can think for itself if you can't tell where it keeps its brain_. And where did Tom keep his brain? She didn't know. And he was angry…how could a book be angry?

_Do you hear me, Ginny? You don't need anyone else._

He was still writing. Ginny backed slowly away from him, mind racing. Her heart was suddenly pounding. She felt totally…wrong.

Then, before she could lose her nerve, she grabbed Tom between thumb and forefinger and tossed him into her trunk. But as she slammed it shut, she felt her chest constrict sharply. She gripped her bedpost to steady herself as the sensation faded. For a moment she had gotten that horrible feeling of missing a step on the staircase, as though her insides had suddenly hollowed out.

She stood there, breathing hard. She knew what she had to do. She shook herself and exhaled determinedly, turning away from her trunk and focusing her mind on the task at hand. She wasn't going to cry alone in her room any longer. She wasn't getting out of this House, so she would have to adapt. As Malfoy had said, she would have to survive.

He was in the Common Room, sitting with one arm along the back of the sofa and the other slouched easily around Pansy's shoulders. His feet were up on the coffee table, ankles crossed. The whole little group was laughing at something Daphne Greengrass had just said.

Ginny walked right up to them and stopped, not taking her eyes off Malfoy and forcing herself to ignore the look of loathing Pansy shot her.

"Malfoy," she said. "A word?"

The entire group fell silent. Draco met her eyes, eyebrows slightly raised. Then he disentangled himself from Pansy and strode over to her. She followed him a little ways from the circle of seats, but from the hushed and stilted whispering that started up behind, Ginny knew that they were all straining their ears to hear.

"So?" he said shortly, eyes boring into her, and she swallowed.

"Your offer, from the other night…." she began. He didn't cut in, so she forged ahead. "Does it still stand?"

His eyebrows went up a smidgen further, and for a moment she was fairly certain he was going to refuse. But then he nodded shortly. "It does."

"Good," she answered. "And thank you." She added it almost as an afterthought, but if felt right to say it. She extended her hand.

He took it.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter - I really appreciate all of your encouragement! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Harry Potter Wiki lists Bridget and Rachel as two Slytherin girls that appear around 1992 (I added the last names). And since we don't know what year Hestia and Flora Carrow are, I figured I'd put them in Ginny's year. I'd love to hear your thoughts about the chapter!


	3. Full of Surprises

**Chapter 3: ****Full of Surprises  
><strong>

The next day at dinner, Draco watched Ginny Weasley take a stand. The dishes had just appeared, and the room was filled with students, chattering loudly and yelling down the tables to one another.

"…mandrakes were an absolute nightmare!" Daphne was saying. "There was dirt absolutely _everywhere_."

"I thought their faces rather looked like Aarons," Blaise put in, taking a swig of pumpkin juice. "You know, the Ravenclaw?"

"The third year?" Pansy said, dissolving into giggles. "Merlin, you're totally right!"

"The little noses!" Daphne gasped, laughing. Crabbe and Goyle started snickering, too.

Draco chuckled into his own cup and glanced up just as Ginny Weasley's garishly red-haired head appeared between the great double doors. He observed her over the top of his mug and smiled when she didn't even hesitate in the doorway.

Ever since her Sorting, Ginny had been sitting alone at the end of the table, barely looking up and certainly not speaking to anyone. But now she tossed her hair over one shoulder, strode down the length of the hall, and sat down beside him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Lockhart is a complete and utter idiot," she declared, huffing as she deposited her bag behind the bench. "_Please_ tell me there's something good to eat."

Everyone else was staring at her open-mouthed. Goyle had actually choked on a bit of food and was now coughing loudly.

Draco met her eyes, then nodded. "Lasagna," he said shortly. "Here." He reached for the plate and passed it over to her.

"Thank Merlin. I love lasagna," she said, grinning widely.

"Blaise was just saying how much he loathes Lockhart, weren't you Blaise?" he said lightly, sounding for all the world like there was absolutely nothing strange about a Weasley and a Malfoy conversing with each other and being _polite_.

Blaise regarded Ginny for a long moment, measuring her up, and then his gaze flicked to Draco as if to say 'You're going to have a lot of explaining to do later.' Then he looked back to Ginny. "He struts around like he's actually accomplished something," he said.

She nodded emphatically. "It's like he's never heard of a wizard other than himself," she agreed. "My mum used to tell me all these stories about him, but _honestly_. Now I've met him, he seems completely ridiculous." She looked up suddenly and her eyes focused on Pansy. "Pansy, would you mind passing the pumpkin juice?"

Her easy, polite tone seemed to catch Pansy off guard. Her eyes darted between Ginny and Draco, glinting with anger. Draco raised his eyebrows at her. "Yes, I think I would mind, actually," she said harshly.

Ginny seemed unperturbed. "Blaise?"

Blaise's eyes flicked to Draco again, but he passed the pitcher.

Ginny kept up casual conversation with the two boys for the rest of the meal, but she ate quickly, and Draco couldn't blame her. Pansy was glaring daggers at her, and Daphne's eyes just darted back and forth nervously. Finally, after she'd cleared her plate, she stood.

"I'm going for a fly."

Pansy snorted. "Like we care where you go," she muttered under her breath.

Ginny ignored her, but as she collected her things, she glanced casually at Draco over her shoulder. "You coming?" she asked, eyebrows raised and a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips.

Draco could've laughed aloud. Nice play, Weasley. She'd dispensed with the kind of poorly-conceived, all-wands-out dig she'd made in the Common Room the first night here, opting instead for something cooler and more underhanded. Apparently Ginny Weasley was a quick study – Pansy looked like she was about to explode from fury. Well, he'd give Weasley this one. Pansy was getting on his nerves, and she rather deserved it.

He grinned widely – a little theatrical, but Pansy wouldn't know the difference – and stood. "Let's go."

As they walked away, he heard Pansy's sputter shrilly: "_What the hell is going on?_" And as they passed the Gryffindor table, he noticed Potter, Granger, and Ginny's assembled brothers watching them, wide-eyed and gaping. Draco couldn't resist shooting them a self-satisfied smirk as he and Ginny left the hall. Annoying the hell out of all of them was just a really big bonus.

As soon as they were outside, Ginny visibly relaxed. He wondered how much of her unruffled cheer had been pure show. He suspected almost all.

"You shouldn't be so tense," he said coolly, "You'll give yourself a headache."

"I already have one," she replied flatly. She traipsed away from the castle and across the Quidditch pitch. Draco followed.

"We're actually going flying?" he asked, genuinely surprised. He didn't know what he had been expecting them to do when they got outside. Go their separate ways, he supposed. He'd agreed to help her survive in Slytherin; spending time together for no apparent reason hadn't been part of the bargain.

"Of course. That's what I said, isn't it?"

"I thought that comment was just cleverly-designed to piss Pansy off."

She tossed him a look of mock offense. "Do I look like the kind of girl who would do something like that?" She grinned wickedly, and Draco found himself grinning back.

"You're really interesting, Weasley," he observed.

"You already said that."

"And I meant it."

They had arrived at the equipment shed, and Ginny tossed her bag down on the grass. She drew her wand from her back pocket and pointed it at the hefty padlock. "_Flobberworm_," she murmured. The padlock fell away, and she pulled open the doors and ducked inside. "Charlie – my brother Charlie – used to be Quidditch captain. He told me the password."

Draco preferred to wait outside, leaning casually against the side of the shed. Rummaging noises filtered out from inside. "We're not going to use the crap school brooms, are we?" he asked.

She re-appeared, a broom in each hand, and glared at him. "Afraid they won't be able to support your giant ego?"

He grunted in annoyance, but took the splintery broom she proffered. He had a brand new Nimbus 2001 in his dormitory, but he had a feeling that suggesting he go retrieve it would get him a _really _withering look, and for some reason he found that he actually cared what she thought.

He could tell as soon as she kicked into the air that she had been raised with Quidditch. She soared up easily, hovering at a comfortable altitude and looking down at him expectantly. He pushed off the ground, immediately feeling the difference between this bloody broom and his Nimbus. This one wobbled as it took to the air, as if it couldn't quite decide whether flying was really worth the effort, and it tended slightly to the left.

But Ginny didn't seem to be having any problems with her own school-issue. When he pulled up to her level, she was gripping the broomstick between her knees and pulling her hair into a messy ponytail. "You fly often," he said. It was more of a statement than a question.

"Yeah, ever since I was little. Lots of Quidditch players in my family."

"Ah, is _that_ what you do with all of those extra redheads?" he asked, smirking with self-satisfaction.

Ginny didn't miss a beat. "Yes, and then we all sit in a circle and brainstorm how to clean our tainted blood," she quipped. She grinned challengingly, eyebrow cocked.

He didn't have a witty response, and it took him a moment to recover. But then he laughed, throwing his head back to look up at the clear, blue sky above. "Touche," he said. He pulled his broom up, gliding across the pitch to hover above the goal posts. She followed.

"So," he began. "I'm surprised a whole army of Weasleys hasn't descended on the castle to rescue you from our evil Slytherin clutches."

Ginny's grin faded suddenly, and she looked away. "I had a letter from my parents this morning, actually," she said. Her voice was light, but Draco could hear how forced it was beneath.

"Come on," he said, "They can't have had a worse reaction than Githead."

"Githead?"

"Your lovely brother Ron."

She laughed. "You were trying to think of an insulting name for Ron, and the best you could come up with was 'Githead?'" she teased. "That's embarrassing, Malfoy."

"Hardly as embarrassing as being related to him," he returned.

"Or as being sorted into Slytherin," she said flatly.

He pulled up short to look at her. Her face was set in a hard expression, and he was taken aback by the bitterness in it. In the short time he'd known her, Draco had seen Ginny Weasley sporting a whole range of emotions – it was actually quite amazing how many she'd managed to fit into such a short length of time, he mused – but bitter and defeated was not one of them.

"Did your parents really say that?" Somehow he'd always thought the Weasleys were the nurturing type. Nauseating, yes, but not the kind to call their daughter an embarrassment. That was more his father's style, he thought wryly.

"No," she replied. She laughed mirthlessly. "They would never. They said they'd tried everything they could, but school protocol was firm. Then they said they were totally fine with it and that they _love me just the same_."

Draco raised his eyebrows. "And that's…bad," he said slowly.

She shot him a look that said quite plainly that he was a complete moron. "They _tried everything they could_," she said. "That means they hated the idea of their precious little girl being a Slytherin and they sent Owls all over Scotland trying desperately to get me out of it."

"You tried to get yourself out of it," Draco observed.

"I know," she said. "But that was different. I don't want anybody else's pity. They're ashamed. My whole family is. No matter what they _say_." She jerked her broom up fiercely, as if she was going to race off, but then she exhaled heavily and stopped short.

He observed her keenly. He would've given a sack of Galleons to know what she was thinking right now. "Being in Slytherin's not the end of the world, you know," he said finally.

She shot him a steely look. "Isn't it, though?"

He rolled his eyes. "No, it isn't. The rest of us manage somehow. And it's an honor."

She glared at him, but he glared right back and continued. "You'll figure that out eventually."

She made a face, but then she pulled her broom back. He hovered in place as she flew a slow loop around the pitch, looking thoughtful. He ran a hand across the back of his neck. What the hell was he doing here anyway? Right now, it felt like he was spending time with a friend, and since when were he and Ginny Weasley _friends_? Sure, she was amusing, and finding a Weasley who was sharp and fiery was certainly intriguing. But he was going to have a lot of explaining to do to Blaise, and Pansy might hold a grudge for years.

"So what's this I hear about you being the new Seeker this year?" He looked up sharply to find that she had pulled up right beside him. All trace of her earlier bitterness was gone, and she was smiling cheerfully.

"Yeah," he said uncomfortably, trying to sit up a little straighter on his broom. He didn't add that he was fairly certain his father buying the team new brooms had had something to do with it. He wasn't rubbish at flying, but he wasn't great either…a fact his father didn't seem particularly interested in.

Ginny raised her eyebrows at him. "Well? Are you any good?"

"I'm all right," he said stiffly, fixing her with a glare that would've warned any of his other friends away from the subject.

But her eyebrows just went up another notch, and he saw a small smirk playing around her lips. Merlin, she really _did_ look like she belonged in Slytherin when she smirked like that.

"I can help you if you want," she said, dipping her broom down and back up again in an easy maneuver.

"With what? With flying?" he said, narrowing his eyes at her. He made an offended noise. "I don't need your help."

"You look about as comfortable on a broom as a goblin riding a bucking hippogriff," she said flatly.

His cheeks reddened, but just then, a strong gust of wind hit his right side and he had to grip his broom hard to keep from tumbling right off. A little training might not be _entirely_ amiss.

He eyed her suspiciously. "What's in it for you?"

"Why does there always have to be something in it for me?"

"Well, isn't there?"

She gave him another impish grin. "Well, you're going to need some practice, or _we Slytherins_ aren't going have much chance of winning the House Cup, now are we?"

She cocked an eyebrow at him before turning and zipping down the pitch, and he smiled widely at that, surprising himself. Maybe little Ginny Weasley would survive in Slytherin after all. His eyes tracked her as she flew past the edge of the pitch and to the castle beyond. She tossed a challenging look at him over her shoulder. "You coming or not?" she called. The sun was setting at her back, making the edges of her hair glow golden around her face. And he made an instinctive, split-second decision.

He leaned forward over his broom handle and sped after her. Sod the consequences.

* * *

><p>"Bloody rain," Draco growled under his breath, trying in vain to brush most of the droplets off of his robes.<p>

"Oh, don't worry about those," Ginny said, observing him with a cheeky grin on her face. "You can have them sent out to be pressed and laundered tomorrow."

He smirked. "True. It's really too bad about yours though," he added, gesturing to her own soaked robes, "Now that they're wrecked, your mum's going to have to scrounge up a new set of hand-me-downs."

She laughed aloud and squeezed the end of her ponytail so that a trail of water fell to the floor. They had stayed out flying for an hour and a half, until a sudden rain had started soaking them through to their skins. It was dark out now, but the halls were still bustling with students. Ginny noticed that many of the people they passed gaped openly at them. For a moment, she wondered why – they were both wearing their Slytherin robes, after all, and what was so strange about two Slytherins laughing? – but then she realized that her bright red hair was as good as a sign around her neck that read "I'm a Weasley."

"Those school brooms are rubbish," Draco muttered, glaring at her. "I'm going to be sore for a week."

"You'll live," she replied. They began the descent into the dungeons, and Ginny was surprised to find that she felt a sense of relief as they were surrounded by the greenish glow of the tinted oil lamps. It felt strangely familiar, and there were fewer people down here to gawk at them.

"Next time I'm bringing my Nimbus," he said.

She swung her head to stare at him, eyes wide. "You have a Nimbus? What model?"

He smirked. "2001," he replied, puffing himself up a bit.

Her eyebrows went up another notch. "So when do I get to try it out?" she asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

They came up to the wall leading into the Common Room. Draco raised an eyebrow at her, then muttered the password so they could stepped through. "What makes you think you get to try it out?" he asked.

"Oh, I don't know." She shrugged. "Maybe the fact that I just spent an hour watching you fumble about on a school issue. A Nimbus 2001 is wasted on you." She smirked at him.

He laughed. "It's a good thing you were sorted into Slytherin," he returned, "or that cheek would've been wasted on _you_."

The Common Room quieted ominously as they entered, and Ginny's eyes darted to Malfoy's circle of friends on one side of the room. Pansy Parkinson looked positively furious, and for a moment, Ginny felt a bit guilty for putting Malfoy in such an awkward position. But then Pansy met her eyes with a poisonous glare, and the guilt quickly transformed into a strangely heady feeling of triumph. She raised her eyebrows at Pansy and smirked, and she felt a little bit wicked.

"Goodnight, Malfoy," she said coolly.

He grinned and bid her goodnight, and she headed up the spiral staircase to her dormitory. Rachel and Bridget were giggling to one side, and Flora and Hestia lay on their respective beds, reading. She nodded curtly to them as she grabbed her pajamas from her trunk and strode into the loo. Rachel and Bridget had been openly hostile since she'd arrived, and the Carrow twins acted like she didn't exist. She shut the door on them.

She stripped off her soaking clothes and laid them out on the counter. She twisted the knob of the shower, sighing contentedly as hot water and steam filled the air around her. She allowed herself to stand there longer than usual. That was one of the benefits of being out of the Burrow, she mused. There wasn't always someone banging on the door, yelling that they needed the loo.

Fifteen minutes later, she pulled on her pajamas and dried her hair and rain-soaked robes with a quick charm. As she brushed her teeth, she surveyed herself in the mirror. So much had changed since she'd gotten on the Hogwarts Express. She'd been sorted into Slytherin, gotten in a row with nearly all of her brothers, and befriended Draco Malfoy. She pressed the bases of her palms into her eyes and exhaled. This was not what she had expected Hogwarts to be like.

She gathered her things and left the bathroom. Her roommates were as she'd left them, and without a word she grabbed her Charms textbook, climbed into bed, and pulled the curtains around her. Ensconced in her own private space, she settled herself on her side and flipped her book open.

Just then, there was a loud knock on the dormitory door. Ginny heard one of the twins climb out of bed to answer it.

"Where's Weasley?" It was Parkinson. Ginny sighed. Just wonderful. She pulled back the curtain of her bed and peered out.

"Can I help you with something?" she said, grasping her wand firmly in her left hand.

"A word," Pansy said shortly.

Exhaling heavily, Ginny stood. She couldn't avoid confrontation with Parkinson forever. She just hoped the older girl didn't resort to hexes. Gripping her wand, she moved out of the room, pulling the dormitory door firmly shut behind her.

"What do you want?" she said impolitely. Standing face to face, she realized that Pansy was several inches taller than her.

"What do I want?" Pansy snorted. "I want you to get one thing straight, Weasley." Ginny held her ground as Pansy stepped toward her. "Draco and I have been friends for years. So _back off_."

Ginny almost laughed. This was ridiculous. "Can't we both be friends with him?" she asked.

"No," Pansy said flatly. "Because I don't like you."

This time, Ginny _did_ laugh. "Trust me, the feeling's mutual."

"Good. Then you'll back off," Pansy said, as if that ended the debate.

"No," Ginny said firmly.

Pansy's eyes glinted with anger, and Ginny realized that there was more to the girl than she had first thought. She had expected shrill insults, but apparently Pansy had more up her sleeve than that. She should have known. Slytherin wasn't just about high tempers and a cruel sense of humor. There was also cunning and shrewdness, and Pansy Parkinson was not to be underestimated.

"He finds you amusing now," Pansy said, "Merlin knows why. But if you think it's going to last, you're stupider than I thought."

"That may be," Ginny answered coolly, "But until then, there's not much you can do about it, is there?"

Pansy arched an eyebrow. "No," she said. "There isn't. But as soon as he gets tired of having a pet blood traitor, there won't be anyone around to protect you." She punctuated her last statement by drawing her wand, and Ginny had to force herself to keep a neutral expression.

"I can take care of myself, thanks very much," she replied, surprising herself with her own confidence. Then, to prove her point, she tapped her own wand purposefully against the side of her thigh. "And if you threaten me again, you'll see exactly what I mean."

Pansy glared at her for several long moments, and Ginny met her eyes challengingly. Then, quite suddenly, Pansy barked out a mirthless laugh. Ginny was a bit bewildered, but she forced herself to smirk.

"Well, you're daring, Weasley," she said. "I'll give you that."

"I'm a Slytherin, same as you," Ginny replied flatly. "Don't forget it."

"Yes, you are," Pansy said slowly, and Ginny felt a little pang of discomfort. At this moment, she really felt like a Slytherin, and Pansy, at least, believed it too.

"Well, if that's all," she said abruptly. "I'll be going back to bed."

Pansy nodded, and without another word, whirled and headed up the staircase to the second year girls' dormitory. Ginny stood with her back against her own dormitory door until Pansy had disappeared out of sight. What the hell had just happened? Had she and Parkinson just pledged eternal hatred or come to some kind of tense truce? She rubbed her hands over her face. She just knew that Rachel and Bridget had had their ears pressed up against the door the entire time, and she cursed herself for not casting a Silencing charm. She didn't particularly want to deal with their hostile comments right now.

Instead, she started down the staircase, not really certain what she would do once she reached the bottom. She was so caught up in her own thoughts that she didn't hear the voices filtering up from the Common Room until she was three steps away.

"Is this like that three-legged mooncalf you took in when you were six?" It was Blaise, and Ginny stopped short, her foot inches away from the next step.

The voice that answered was Draco's, and he sounded half-amused and half-impatient. "No, Blaise," he said. "For one thing, Ginny Weasley's not four-legged or nocturnal, and as far as I know, she's not responsible for any crop circles."

"You know what I mean," Blaise replied. "Do you feel sorry for her or what?"

"Of course I feel sorry for her," Draco snapped. "Nobody else here gives a damn about her, or hadn't you noticed?"

"Since when do you care about the weak and friendless?"

"Since it turns out that she's also not what I expected. She's quite funny, actually, and she's got a mean streak. Did you see that little stunt she pulled with Pansy at dinner?" Ginny flushed at that. Not her best moment, but it had been satisfying, anyway.

Blaise was laughing at the memory. "You're right. That _was_ brilliant." Then, "So you want me to stick my neck out too, is that it?"

"Oh, come off it, Zabini. I'm hardly asking you to jump off the Astronomy Tower without a broom. Just give her a chance. I think you'll like her. Plus," Draco added, "just think how many Gryffindors it'll piss off."

Blaise snorted. "True," he said. "Well _all right_, but I sure hope you know what you're doing. Your parents aren't going to like this, you know."

"She's in Slytherin and she's Pureblood. What's not to like?"

Blaise laughed. "I never thought I'd hear you say that about a Weasley," he mused.

Their voices were getting farther away, and Ginny knew they must be moving toward the boys' staircase. The last thing she heard was Draco's muffled reply: "Well, life's full of surprises, isn't it?"

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Thank you to everyone who reviewed last time! Sorry this update took longer than usual - Ginny's first year is turning out much longer than anticipated. I had planned on all of her first year being two to three chapters, but now it's looking like it'll be more like five. Please leave a review!


	4. Becoming a Slytherin

**Chapter 4: Becoming a Slytherin**

Ginny wrapped her Slytherin scarf tightly around her neck as she descended the girls' staircase. She did not relish the prospect of going out in the morning chill, but it was the Slytherin Quidditch team's first practice, and she needed to see Draco in action so she could give him tips during their evening flying sessions.

The boy in question met her at the bottom of the stairs. "The rest of the team's already left," he said, hefting his Nimbus over his shoulder as they headed out of the Common Room. Ginny observed that he shifted a little nervously when he mentioned the team. He would never admit it, but she knew Draco didn't think he was particularly qualified to be the Seeker. Well, they'd get him up to standard before the first game, she thought determinedly.

As they made their way down the corridors, he eyed her clothes and smirked. "Dressed for a blizzard, I see."

"Sod off," she grumbled, and he grinned. "I'm supporting the team, aren't I?" she added, gesturing to her scarf.

"I'm sure you'll raise morale significantly," he said.

"I should hope so. I've put in serious effort."

He laughed. "Are you sure you want to come to this? It's going to be boring."

"What? A whole hour of Marcus Flint yelling at you through that over-large jaw of his?" she said, grinning, "I brought popcorn."

He snorted. "Flint does seem to have a few too many teeth, doesn't he? Although," he added, "I wouldn't say that to his face. He might bite your head off."

Ginny guffawed, and they laughed the rest of the way through the castle.

They heard the row before they had even set foot on the pitch.

"That is _unacceptable_!" someone was yelling. "I have had this time slot booked since the beginning of term!"

There was a muffled answer, not quite so high-pitched and agitated, and Ginny frowned as they rounded the corner and were faced with the sight of the Slytherin and Gryffindor Quidditch teams facing off. The team members had formed two wide semi-circles with Flint and the Gryffindor Quidditch captain – Ginny vaguely remembered her brothers referring to him as Oliver – at the center. She saw Fred and George looking on, their Beater's bats slung over their shoulders, and there was Harry, looking uncomfortable, flanked by Ron and Hermione. What were the two of them doing here?

"This is _against_ school policy!" Oliver said. He was getting very red.

"Nice of you to join us, Malfoy," Adrian Pucey said in an undertone as they joined the Slytherin team.

"What's going on?" Malfoy asked, obviously bewildered.

"Like I _said_, _we_ have a note from Professor Snape expressly allowing us the use of the pitch," Flint said, stepping closer to Oliver and grinning. His teeth protruded at odd angles from between his lips, and Ginny suppressed a snort.

"…well you can TELL Professor Snape to shove his note right up his—," Fred began loudly.

"Ginny? What're you doing here?" Ron cut in, catching sight of her around the enormous Slytherin Beater.

All eyes turned to her, and Ginny shifted uncomfortably under the sudden scrutiny. This had been happening much too much lately. "I'm watching the Slytherin practice," she said shortly.

She forced herself to meet Ron's eyes as he spluttered for a response. "So you're on _their_ side now, is that it?" he said finally.

Ginny's eyes narrowed. "Yes, Ron," she replied, "I support _my House's_ team."

"What's _Malfoy_ doing here?" Harry said, before Ron could answer.

"I'm the new Seeker, Potter. Got a problem with that?" Draco replied from beside her.

"And his dad bought us all brand new brooms," added Flint, smirking. Ginny saw Draco cringe a little at that information.

Hermione snorted loudly, and Draco's eyes flicked up immediately. "Have something to say, Granger?" he snapped defensively.

"Well no one on the _Gryffindor_ team had to buy their way on," she said. She crossed her arms over her chest with a superior look on her face.

Ginny's eyes widened in shock, and she glanced to Draco. His cheeks had flushed, and the muscle at the corner of his jaw was working furiously. "How dare you?" he spat finally, gripping the handle of his broom tightly, "You filthy little _mudblood_."

Ginny inhaled sharply. She had gotten used to the other Slytherins using that word casually around the Common Room, but she'd never heard Draco say it before. Her own surprise came as a shock. Had she really let herself forget that he was a Malfoy? On the Gryffindor side, the word had caused an instant uproar. Hermione had flushed, Fred and George were both yelling loudly, but her eyes slid to Ron, who had reddened to the tips of his bright red hair and was fumbling in his back pocket for his wand.

And before she quite knew what she was doing, she had stepped in front of Draco, pulled her own wand from her robes, and was pointing it straight at her brother's chest. Ron finally managed to get his own wand up, and Ginny noticed that it was broken in half and woefully put back together with what looked suspiciously like Spello-tape.

"What are you doing, Ginny?" Ron asked loudly, meeting her gaze with wide eyes.

"Put your wand away, Ron," she replied, trying to keep a calm tone over the pounding of her heart in her chest. "It's broken anyway."

All of the uproar had died around them, and everyone was staring at them.

"Did you hear what Malfoy _said_?" he asked, blinking several times in quick succession, as if he couldn't quite believe she was standing in front of him.

"Of course I did!" she snapped. "But you're not hexing anyone with that wand, Ron."

He shook himself, then raised his wand more determinedly. "Get out of the way!" Ron yelled.

"No. Ron, don't—"

But in a split second, he jerked his wand to shoot a curse at Draco over her shoulder, and Ginny yelled, "_Stupefy!_" as loudly as she could. Ron flew back several feet through the air and landed heavily on the ground, and in the next moment, Ginny was nearly floored by the completely irrational fear that he'd been permanently injured. She rushed over and knelt beside him, heart hammering. But then he moved, rolling over groggily and moaning, and Ginny felt a heady wave of relief. It was short-lived.

"Merlin, Ron, I'm so sorry…," she began.

He looked up sharply, his expression so angry that she had to force herself not to flinch. "What in the bloody hell _happened_ to you, Ginny?" he yelled. "It's like I don't even know you anymore!"

His words hit Ginny like a punch in the gut, and she reeled back, mind racing. Ron was her favorite brother. He knew her better than anyone. And now he was saying that he didn't know her at all. She pushed herself to her feet and suddenly became acutely aware of all of the other people watching them. She forced her face into a hard expression and glared at Fred and George until they looked away. She turned back toward the castle, but she gave Ron one last glance over her shoulder as she moved away.

"You might want to work on your spellwork," she said unkindly, and then she fled.

* * *

><p>"Weasley! Weasley! GINNY, slow down, will you?"<p>

Ginny kept up the same near-running pace, ignoring Draco's shouts and heavy footfalls as he rushed to catch up. He came up beside her just as she started down the steps to the dungeons.

"Gryffindor got the field when I took off," he said casually, "Flint was furious, but I said I needed to talk to you."

"How noble of you," she growled, tucking her hair behind her ear with an angry jerk of her hand. "_Purity_," she added sharply, and they stepped through the wall to the Common Room.

He looked taken aback at her tone, but she saw him swallow a retort as they made their way down the green-tinged hall and into the Common Room proper. By now, the room was filling with early risers. "Thank you for what you did back there," he said slowly.

She wasn't sure what she wanted him to say, but 'thank you' was _not_ it. She felt all of the angry frustration in her stomach flooding into her chest and making it hard to breathe. "Don't thank me," she snapped. "I should've let Ron hex you. You deserved it."

His brow furrowed. "Well, if I deserved it, why did you stun him?"

"Because his wand was snapped in two!" she retorted. "He would've hurt himself. And because you're my friend," she added. "And friends don't let friends get hexed."

He laughed at that, crossing his arms over his chest. "That's a saying for the ages if I ever heard one," he said. "'Friends don't let friends get hexed.' You know, I think I want that engraved on my tombstone when I die."

"This is _not_ a joke!" she snapped loudly, her voice rising in pitch.

He sobered at her tone and turned to look at her. "I said I'm sorry, didn't I? What do you want from me?" he asked, his voice dangerously low.

"I want you to stop using _that word_!" she yelled. The Common Room quieted around them, and everyone turned to stare, which only made her more angry.

He flinched back, but recovered himself quickly. "It's only a word. It's hardly—"

"It's a foul, horrible, miserable word!" she shouted.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he said sharply, his voice rising to match hers. His eyes were dark with anger.

"Nothing is wrong with me! Just stop using that bloody word!"

"Fine!" he yelled back. "Merlin, whose side are you on, anyway?"

At that, she barked out a mirthless laugh. "_Yours_, and I think I made that perfectly clear today!"

She turned on her heel and raced up the stairs to the girls' dormitory. She knew he wouldn't be able to follow her and was grateful for it. She couldn't even look at him right now. With a frustrated growl, she unwound her Slytherin scarf and thrust it savagely into the depths of her trunk. Her fingers brushed something, and she felt a sharp pain on the edge of her middle finger. She pulled her hand out sharply, glaring at the paper cut and the little droplet of blood forming. Sucking on her finger, she pushed aside some of the things in her trunk until she was staring down at the culprit – _Tom_.

She stared at him – just a little black book – for several long moments, and then, before she could think about why she had put him there in the first place, she pulled him out of the trunk and tossed him onto her bed. She grabbed a quill from her bookbag, threw herself down beside him, and pulled the curtains. She opened him and began to write.

And she felt much, _much_ better.

* * *

><p>"Draco." He turned when someone brushed his arm in the hall.<p>

"Weasley," he said coolly, stopping in the middle of the hall. The hall was crowded, and students milled past around them.

"Draco, let's go," Pansy said sharply. He glanced over his shoulder to where she and Blaise were waiting, eyebrows raised. He turned back to Ginny, and noticed immediately that she looked incredibly tired. There were dark rings under her eyes, and she was fidgeting, as if she'd had a great deal of Pepper-up potion in the past few days. He hardly recognized her as the fiery girl who had yelled at him in the Common Room two weeks ago.

"I'll see you guys later," he said, and he waited until Pansy and Blaise moved away before he turned back to Ginny. "Come on," he said, jerking his head to an alcove a few feet away. She followed him.

"Come to apologize?" he said finally, trying to keep his voice hard. Merlin, she really looked like hell. She opened her mouth to speak, then shut it again. Her left arm jerked reflexively, and he noticed that she was gripping a little black book so tightly in her hand that her knuckles were white. His brow furrowed.

"I—," she began, then she shut her mouth again, and she glanced down at the book in her hand.

"Ginny…," he said slowly. "Are you okay?" He reached out and put a hand on her arm, and her gaze flicked up to where his fingers were lightly gripping her robes. Then, quite suddenly, she grit her teeth, and with a swift movement, shoved the book into her bag. She tensed for a moment, but then she visibly relaxed, exhaling heavily. What was going on?

"Ginny…," he said again, his confusion leaking into his voice.

"Yes," she said finally. "I've come to apologize. I'm sorry."

He swallowed his questions about the book – if all that _had_ been about that little book – and focused on what she was saying. "You're sorry for yelling at me or you're sorry for robbing me of the opportunity to hex your brother?" he asked, a smirk playing around his lips.

She laughed, actually laughed, at that, and it lit her whole face up. For a second, she looked like her normal self again. "Sorry for yelling at you. _Not_ sorry for keeping _you_ from _getting_ hexed by my brother."

"Rubbish," he said, "I could've blocked his hex."

"You didn't even have your wand out," she said, raising her eyebrows at him.

He shrugged. "I guess it's a good thing I had you then, isn't it?" he said.

"Exactly," she said, smiling. "Will you stop using that word?" she added, meeting his eyes. "It _is_ a horrible word."

He sobered. "Words don't mean anything unless we want them to, Weasley," he said slowly. "It's just a word."

"Then stop using it," she replied seriously. "If it doesn't mean anything."

He stared at her for a long moment, then shrugged again. "If it means that much to you…."

"It does," she said shortly.

"Fine," he answered, a little sharply.

When he looked up, she was grinning widely, and he felt a smile tugging at the corners of his own lips. "So, shall we start up flying lessons again?" he asked lightly.

"We better," she agreed. "Your first game's coming up, isn't it?"

"Yeah, against Gryffindor."

She sucked in a breath. "You're going to _need_ the practice," she said. "Harry's a great Seeker."

He rolled his eyes. "What can't the boy wonder do, anyway?" he muttered grumpily, but she didn't seem to hear him. When he looked up, she was re-adjusting her bag strap and hitching it higher on her shoulder.

"So six o'clock on the pitch?" she asked brightly.

"You don't mind missing the Halloween Feast?" he said.

"Hardly," she replied, "I'll see you at six. I've got to go send a letter at the Owlery, and if I don't get there before four, all the non-crippled school owls will have already been taken," she said.

"I would offer you my owl, but he took a letter home for me this morning," Draco said.

She waved away the offer. "It's all right. There's this one school owl with a lopsided eye that I quite like."

He laughed at that, and he watched her move away down the hall, a wide smile on his face and his earlier confusion completely forgotten.

* * *

><p>A few hours later, he sat on the Quidditch pitch with his back against the equipment shed and his Nimbus across his lap. The sun had just set on the horizon, and the air had cooled considerably. He tapped his hand against his left thigh, squinting back at the entrance to the castle and wondering what was keeping Ginny. She was twenty minutes late.<p>

He let a few more minutes pass, but then he pushed himself to his feet, grunting impatiently. He was not accustomed to waiting.

The halls were deserted, and Draco wound his way toward the Great Hall. Maybe she'd forgotten completely and gone to the feast without him, though that seemed unlikely. He walked past the entrance to the hall. Loud conversations and warm light spilled out from the doorway, and he peered inside, but there was no telltale red hair at the Slytherin table.

Brow furrowed, he continued on, walking toward to the Slytherin Common Room. Then he turned a corner and saw her. She was walking very slowly down the hall toward him, her head bowed and her hands shoved deep into her robe pockets.

"Ginny!" he said, annoyed. "Did you forget our lesson?"

She looked up as he walked toward her, and he noticed that her eyes were strangely glassy. She didn't respond.

"Ginny?" he said, an uneasy feeling building in his stomach. He waved a hand in front of her face. "Weasley! What's wrong with you?"

That seemed to get through to her, and she blinked several times in quick succession. The glassy effect faded, and she looked at him with obvious confusion. "Draco? What're you doing here? What's going on?"

He sighed in relief, and the annoyance seeped back in. "I could ask you the same," he said testily. "I've been waiting on the pitch for half an hour."

That seemed to confuse her further, and her brow furrowed. "I was on my way there…. I must have lost track of time…."

He rolled his eyes. "It's all right. Are you okay? You seemed a little spacey just now."

She shook herself. "Yes, no…I mean, I'm fine." She laughed nervously. "I'm not sure what I was thinking of…."

Draco looked at her thoughtfully for a moment. "It was probably a bad idea to skip dinner," he said slowly. "Have you eaten today?" She shook her head, and he rolled his eyes again. "Well, if we go right now, we can probably catch the very end of the feast. Come on." He grasped the crook of her elbow and led her back toward the Great Hall.

They moved through the halls in silence. Ginny still looked bewildered, and she worried her lower lip, as though she was trying to remember something.

Then they rounded a corner and were faced with a huge group of students stopped in the middle of the hallway. They were all whispering quite frantically and pointing between one another to something at the front. Draco couldn't see over the group to what they were staring at, but he saw the tip of Professor Dumbledore's bright purple hat.

Not letting go of Ginny's arm, he tapped a nearby Hufflepuff on the shoulder. "What's going on?" he asked.

"Not sure," he murmured back. "Potter, Granger, and Weasley found something."

Draco's brow furrowed, and gripping Ginny, he pushed his way through the crowd to the very front. The trio was there all right, along with several professors. They were all staring at something on the wall, and Draco followed their gazes.

His heart leapt up into his throat, and Ginny made a strange whimpering sound beside him.

Mrs. Norris, Filch's cat, was hanging, stiff as a board, from a torch bracket. And scrawled across the wall beside her, looking for all the world like they were written in human blood, were the words:

"THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR BEWARE."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> I'm sorry this one's a bit short, but I thought it was a good place to end it :) Please leave a review!


	5. Descending

**Chapter 5: Descending**

Ginny sat on the Hogwarts Express, Tom in her lap, staring out the window as the horn sounded and the train began to slow for its entrance into King's Cross station. She was dreading this holiday.

Ron and Harry had decided to stay at school, so at least she wouldn't have to deal with them. But the rest of her brothers would be home, including Fred and George, who had witnessed the incident on the Quidditch field first hand and hadn't spoken to her since. Not even teasingly. And _her parents_. She dug her fingernails into her palms. She had expected a Howler after word got out that she had stunned Ron, but Errol had arrived with just a short note saying they would discuss it over the holidays.

She shut her eyes tightly and leaned her head against the windowpane, relishing the feeling of the cool glass against her temple. There was something else. She had been feeling…_off_…lately. _Heavy_, as if there was an invisible weight hanging around her neck and she was wading through a sea of molasses. And there was a darkness constantly threatening to creep into her vision, like she was always five seconds away from losing consciousness. She had lost her appetite, and she was uncomfortably thin. She felt like she was walking around half-dead. There were whole segments of her day that she could hardly remember, when she must have literally fallen asleep on her feet.

She wondered vaguely if it might be stress. She wouldn't be surprised if the strain of being sorted into Slytherin was taking some kind of physical toll. And the atmosphere at school had gotten incredibly tense over the past few weeks, ever since Colin Creevey, Justin Finch-Fletchley, and Nearly Headless Nick had been petrified. Ginny hadn't gone to the Hospital Wing. Rumor around the school was that Madame Pomfrey was working on distilling a cure for petrification from Hagrid's mandrakes, and Ginny want to bother her with simple stress exhaustion.

She sighed, wishing for about the hundredth time, that she could have stayed at school with Draco over the holidays. He was the only one who seemed to have noticed that there was anything wrong with her at all. She had walked out of Transfiguration a week ago to find him leaning against the wall outside, holding something wrapped in a napkin. "Slice of pound cake," he said shortly. She had started to protest, but he cut her off and pressed the cake into her hand. "You're one strong gust of wind away from disappearing altogether, and you skipped breakfast. Don't argue, Weasley." He had given her one last glare and walked away. The memory made a small smile tug at the corner of her lips.

"Ginny?" A voice right beside her jolted her back to the present. She looked up sharply, and recognized the round, kind face of Neville Longbottom. He was looking down at her nervously, and when she met his eyes, he flushed. They had played together as kids – their parents had been friends years and years ago – but she hadn't spoken to him since she'd started school. Had he been sitting in her compartment the entire time?

"Yeah?" she asked.

"We're here…," he said uncertainly, and she realized that the train had stopped and that students were spilling off onto the platform outside.

"Oh," she said. "Er…thanks, Neville."

He nodded and started out of the compartment. In the doorway, he paused and fidgeted a bit. "Have a good holiday," he said finally.

She smiled. "You too."

She exhaled heavily and stood, noticing with a wince that her fingernails had left little half-moon crescents on her palms. The platform was crowded, and she stood uncertainly near the train for several moments, scanning the crowd for the telltale group of redheads. Finally, she spotted them a few cars down – her mum and dad, Fred and George, and Percy unloading his trunk from the train. She dragged her trunk out of her compartment and pulled it down the platform to where they were standing.

"Gin-bug!" her dad said, pulling her into a hug and ruffling her hair a bit.

"Oh, Ginny!" her mum whirled to face her, her eyes immediately darting down to Ginny's Slytherin robes. "You didn't have time to change your robes?" she asked, her voice full of forced brightness. Feeling a jolt of annoyance, Ginny shook her head. "Well, no matter," Mrs. Weasley said quickly, "it's so good to see you, dear." She cupped Ginny's face between her palms and surveyed her concernedly. "You've lost weight. Are you not feeling well?"

"I'm fine, Mum," she replied. "Just a bit tired, that's all."

"Well we'll get you home and get some food in you, and then you can have the entire rest of the holiday to rest."

Ginny smiled genuinely at that. "That sounds great." As Percy helped her dad load the trunks onto a trolley, she glanced up, a little apprehensively, at Fred and George. She was sure they were still angry with her over the Quidditch incident. They stared back in silence for a moment, and she thought she saw a hint of wariness in their expressions. Then, finally, Fred said, "All right, Ginny?"

She nodded. "All right."

"Come on, you lot," Mrs. Weasley said. "Let's get you home."

* * *

><p>"So, dear, tell us about school," Mrs. Weasley said lightly.<p>

They had just finished dinner that night, and Fred, George, and Percy seemed to have disappeared immediately, leaving Ginny alone with her parents. She wondered if they had planned it, and the thought irritated her somewhat.

"It's fine," she replied evenly. She saw her parents exchange a look and barreled onward. "Slytherin's really not as bad as—"

Her mother pounced. "Well that's what we wanted to speak to you about," she cut in. Ginny clamped her lips shut in a hard line.

"We're concerned," her dad put in. "You look thin and tired, and we're worried it might be because you don't have any friends or family around you."

"I have friends," she said.

"The boys have told us that you're spending a lot of time with Draco Malfoy," her mum said, putting her hand over Ginny's on the table.

"He's my friend," Ginny replied slowly.

"Not the right kind of friend," her mum said flatly. Ginny's eyebrows went up, and her mum backtracked. "That's not entirely what I meant to say…."

"Your mother just means that he's a bad influence," Mr. Weasley said quickly. "The incident with Ron…."

"Was my fault, not Draco's, and Ron was trying to get a hex off—"

"And that was very, very wrong of him," her dad conceded. "But he was defending Hermione."

"And I was defending Draco," Ginny said, annoyance building. She pulled her hand out from beneath her mother's and intertwined her fingers tightly beneath the table.

"_Nonetheless_," her mum said sternly. "We think it's best if we speak to Professor Dumbledore again, and tell him you're not coping. It would be easier for you in Gryffindor, dear, where your brothers can look after you."

"None of them has even _spoken_ to me in weeks," Ginny retorted. Her voice was rising, and she swallowed, trying to calm herself. They weren't letting her get a word in edgewise, let alone listening to what she was saying!

"I think they just don't know what to make of you, dear," Mrs. Weasley said with a sigh, as if that excused everything.

"Well _I_ know what to make of me," she snapped loudly. When she looked up, her parents were staring at her, eyes wide, and it took all the effort she could muster to get herself under control. "And I don't want to switch houses," she said finally, her voice thin with restraint. She pushed herself bodily away from the table. "I'm going to go shower before one of the boys takes it," she added, and stalked from the room.

* * *

><p>On Christmas morning, the whole family, save Ron, was crowded around the Christmas tree. It was loud and raucous, and Ginny actually found herself laughing at her brothers' antics. She felt like she hadn't heard the sound of her own laugh in weeks. Bill and Charlie had arrived late last night, and she grinned widely as her mum chastised Bill about his bachelor status and Fred stood behind her mouthing the speech word for word.<p>

"Ginny, this is yours!" She turned just as Charlie tossed her a package wrapped in bright red paper, complete with moving dragons whose nostrils emitted puffs of orange flame. She grabbed it out of the air with one hand, and Charlie made a sound of appreciation.

"You have _got_ to try out for Quidditch next year, Gin!" he said brightly, "Merlin knows Gryffindor's always in need of good Chasers."

The merriment was sucked from the room in an instant. In the awkward silence that followed, she watched Charlie's face flush red as he realized what he'd said. Ever since the confrontation with her parents, the fact that she was in Slytherin was a taboo subject. She reddened with annoyance as all eyes turned to her to see how she'd react. It was as if she'd grown two heads.

"Well," she said evenly, "Slytherin could do with a few talented Chasers, too."

Charlie nodded, suddenly solemn and incredibly interested in the wrapped gift in his hands.

"I'll say," Fred said in an undertone, and George chuckled into his hand. Ginny felt her cheeks burn.

"_Well_," Bill said loudly, glaring at the twins. "Maybe we should start opening gifts."

"Yes, let's!" her mum agreed brightly. "Arthur, why don't you go turn on the radio. I think the Weird Sisters are doing a Christmas special."

A few moments later, the room was filled with the sounds of ripping paper, whoops of delight, and the cheerful harmonies of "I'm Feelin' the Magic," and Ginny settled down cross-legged and drew her first gift toward her. Ripping open the packaging, she drew out a package of holiday-themed Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans from Fred and George.

"I'd stay away from the Mistletoe flavor, if I were you," Fred said, glancing over and grinning.

"That doesn't sound too bad," she said, eyeing the package speculatively.

"Well make sure you call us over when you try it, then," George said. "I'll want a picture of your face."

Ginny laughed. "Thanks, Forge," she said genuinely, setting the beans aside.

She received a new travel-friendly inkpot from Percy, a box of special Romanian tea from Charlie ("It tastes fantastic, I promise"), and a framed family photograph from Bill. Fred even passed over another small package. "From Ron," he said, and Ginny smiled. It was three of his rarest Chocolate Frog cards.

Even as Ginny pulled her last package toward her, she knew what it would be. Every year, her mum knitted all of them a Weasley Christmas jumper. Fred and George had already pulled their jumpers over their pajama tops – crimson with 'F' and 'G' in gold. She glanced over to Bill, who had his own pullover slung over his shoulder. Crimson and gold. Percy and Charlie's sported the same colors – Gryffindor colors.

Anxiety mounting, she ripped at the wrapping and pulled out her own jumper. _It was pink_. She blinked several times, gaze flicking from her sweater to each of her brothers'. She swallowed, feeling a sudden rush of humiliation so strong that her vision blurred. The blackness was pulsing threateningly at the edges of her vision.

"I know you hate pink, but I thought…," her mum said, and Ginny looked up sharply. Her dad and brothers seemed to have noticed the tension and had turned to stare at them.

Ginny clenched her fingers into tight fists, bunching in the fabric of the bloody _pink_ jumper. She swallowed and tasted bile. "But you couldn't bring yourself to knit a green and silver one?" she said quietly, her voice low and dangerous.

Mrs. Weasley flushed bright red. "That's not…_Ginny_, how can you…," she stuttered, but Ginny knew her mother well enough to know that she was rarely at a loss for words. She had hit the mark. She felt a burning anger bubbling to the surface. She had to get out of here before she exploded.

"Ginny!" her dad said sharply as she stood and gathered her gifts to her chest. "You know we don't tolerate rudeness in this house. You mum knitted you that sweater, and…."

"Everyone else can wear their House colors, is that it?" she retorted suddenly. Her father flinched back. Her brothers' eyes were all wide as saucers. She laughed mirthlessly. "Everyone can wear red and gold because Gryffindor is something to be _proud_ of, right? But Merlin forbid I wear green and silver. Merlin forbid anyone know there's a Weasley in Slytherin! How bloody shameful."

"Ginevra Molly Weasley," her father said loudly. "You will _not_ use that kind of language in this house. And you will apologize to your mother right now!"

Ginny held his gaze for a long moment, and she knew he could read the defiance in it. She met her mum's eyes as she fled toward the staircase. "Sorry," she said, but she didn't mean it, and they could all tell.

* * *

><p>Draco sat in the Common Room, legs outstretched and ankles crossed on the coffee table, flicking absentmindedly through a copy of <em>Quidditch Quarterly<em>. Classes started tomorrow, which meant that the train bringing students back from the holidays would be arriving any minute now, thank Merlin. Crabbe and Goyle had stayed at school as well, but they were dull company. He was looking forward to having intelligent conversations again.

Several moments later, people began to filter into the Common Room. Blaise and Pansy rounded the corner mid-conversation.

"…and my mum bought me this new coat. It's lined with the absolute softest fur." Parkinson spotted him first. "Draco! How was your holiday?" She threw herself down beside him on the sofa.

"It was good," he said, tossing the magazine aside. "Crabbe and Goyle spent most of it in the kitchens."

Blaise grinned and sank down in the armchair opposite. "Typical."

"I think half the time they were in walking food comas," he added. "On Christmas they came in with some confused story about floating cupcakes."

Pansy started giggling uncontrollably.

"Merlin, don't even _talk_ to me about cupcakes," Blaise groaned, stretching and clasping his hands behind his head. "My stepdad bakes my mum these ridiculous little red velvet cupcakes with sugar hearts on them. It's enough to make me lose my lunch."

"This one not up to the great Blaise Zabini's standards either?" Draco smirked.

"And what standards are these?" He looked up to see that Ginny had come in. She was leaning against the back of Blaise's armchair. She raised her eyebrows at Draco and smiled. He smiled back, but he noticed immediately that the holiday had done nothing to improve her health. The bags under her eyes were darker and more pronounced, and her cheeks looked hollowed out. He wondered vaguely if he ought to get her to go to the Hospital Wing.

"Blaise's mum has been married…what is it now, Blaise?" Draco replied.

"This is number seven," he said, smirking.

Ginny's eyebrows went up almost to her hairline as she sat down in an armchair and crossed her legs in the seat. Draco laughed at her expression. "And he's absolutely despised all of them."

"Well, you know what they say," she replied, turning to Blaise, "Lucky number seven."

Blaise snorted. "Hardly. He's this nervous little coward…annoying as all hell. It makes me yearn for number six."

Ginny snorted. "Don't tell me you refer to them by number."

Blaise grinned. "They come, they go. I don't bother with their names."

"I wish I'd thought of that with my brothers," Ginny quipped, smiling, and Blaise threw his head back and laughed. Draco watched them thoughtfully; it seemed Ginny had successfully won Blaise over. He was happy about that (though Pansy didn't look particularly pleased despite the smiling front she was putting on), but he could tell from that last comment that something had happened between Ginny and her family over the holidays. He wondered what it was.

Much too early, Ginny yawned widely. "Well," she said. "I think I'm going to go to bed."

Draco's brow furrowed. "It's not even dinner yet."

"It's all right," she replied, waving away the thought. "I'm not hungry."

And with that, she retreated up the stairs to the girls' dormitory, looking for all the world like she could hardly keep herself upright, even though it wasn't yet six o'clock.

* * *

><p><em>Four months later<em>

It was like dreaming of falling and waking just as she hit the ground. One minute she was asleep in her bed, and the next she jolted to reality and found that she was somewhere else entirely. It was dark – pitch black, but somehow she found that she could see more clearly than she had ever been able to before – and dank and strange-smelling. She felt damp walls surrounding her on all sides, and she realized with a strange sort of detachment that she was sliding along the walls rather than walking.

_Kill…blood…_

She heard the words, and then she realized that she was the one who had said them. An uneasiness began to creep into her chest, and then she blinked and she was out in the open, in a hallway that she recognized. She was near the library.

A strong smell filled her senses, and she began to move slowly down the hall. Her skin made a strange sound against the stones, and she looked down and realized that it wasn't skin – it was scales. Panic filled her, and she tried to call out for help, but then –

_Kill…blood…kill…_

Those words again, and she had said them. She hadn't meant to. She reached up to cover her mouth and realized that she didn't have hands, because snakes don't have hands, and she was a snake now…a huge snake, bigger than any she had ever seen. The smell was getting stronger and stronger, and she realized that it was the smell of blood. Terror began to overwhelm her, blurring her vision and making her heart pound loudly in her ears…she had to _get out of here_, away from this body that wasn't hers, away from the metallic scent of blood, but she couldn't stop herself from moving forward…closer and closer to whatever it was that smelled like life and death all at the same time. She saw a glint of something around the corner – was it a mirror? – and heard the sound of two bodies hitting the ground.

And then everything went black.

* * *

><p>This time she had to fight to open her eyes.<p>

_Your fight to maintain consciousness is futile._

The voice was familiar, and she realized with a start that when she had read Tom's words on the pages of her diary, he had sounded just like this in her mind. She looked around; she was in a hall again, and her hand was gripping something wet – a dead rooster, and her fingers were drenched in its blood.

_Why don't you just make this easier on both of us? Give up. _Even as he said the words, she felt the blackness creeping in at the corners of her vision.

_No._ The word ripped from her throat, but her ears heard no sound.

_You are beginning to annoy me, Ginny Weasley. But that will be temporary. I am almost done with you._

_Tom_, she thought, _why are you doing this? I thought you were my friend._

A snide laugh. _Did you really think I cared about your silly little problems? I befriended you because I needed you. After all, I couldn't open the Chamber on my own._

A rush of understanding filled her, followed swiftly by panic and anger and fear. Oh Merlin, she was afraid. She had done it. She _was_ the snake that had attacked all of those students. It had been her all along.

_Yes_, Tom replied, satisfaction filling his voice. _I needed you for that. But do not worry. I will not be needing you for long._

She felt her arm rising. She resisted – _no, no, no, no, no_ – but all she could do was watch as her fingers began to trace letters on the stone of the wall. She was writing in blood, and the words filled her with terror. She screamed, but once again, no sound came out.

No one could hear her.

* * *

><p>When Ginny didn't arrive from the last class of the day, Draco began to worry. Since Granger and the Ravenclaw prefect had been attacked, the professors had been escorting them to and from classes. Ginny should have come in with the other first years. It wasn't safe for her to be out. The monster was already petrifying Mudbl – Muggleborns and Half-bloods. It was probably only a matter of time before it started attacking Weasleys.<p>

He sat with Blaise, Pansy, Crabbe, Goyle, and Daphne, but his mind wasn't on their conversation. Every time someone made a noise near the entrance to the Common Room, his head snapped up, looking for the telltale copper hair.

Forty minutes later, he had had enough.

He stood up abruptly, ignoring Pansy's sound of surprise, and started out of the room.

"Where are you going?" Blaise said.

"Looking for Ginny," he said, not turning around.

"We're not allowed out," Pansy said sharply.

He ignored her.

The halls were deserted, and he was halfway to the staff room before he realized what he was planning to do. He would tell Snape that she was missing, and then the professors could find her. She would probably get in trouble for being out, and she would be furious with him, but that was better than petrified. Or worse, dead. The knot of worry tightened in his stomach at the thought.

He heard loud voices filtering out of the staff lounge as he rounded the corner – and ran straight into Scarface and Githead.

"What are _you_ doing here?" Weasley said loudly. His expression was threatening, but Draco noticed immediately that he was white as a sheet. Something was wrong. Potter elbowed Ron hard in the ribs and looked meaningfully at the open door to the staff room. He grabbed his friend by the sleeve and dragged him around the corner, motioning for Draco to follow them.

"Now, what are you doing here?" Potter said, just as suspiciously.

Draco resisted the urge to make a snarky comment. Now was not the time. If their expressions were anything to go by, they knew something, and he needed to know it too. "Your sister is missing," he said flatly.

At the mention of his sister, Ron's face fell, and for one horrifying moment, Draco thought he might cry.

"We know," Potter answered darkly.

"What do you mean?"

"The professors were just talking about it," Ron said, voice shaking. "She's been…kidnapped. There was another message on the wall…in _blood_," he added significantly.

"It said, 'Her body will lie in the Chamber forever,'" Potter finished.

Draco gripped the wall for support as his stomach clenched and a wave of nausea passed through him. Merlin, she was going to be killed…she might already be dead. He hadn't realized how much he cared about what happened to her, and that was as much of a shock as anything.

Finally, he regained his self-control and straightened, looking from Potter to Weasley.

"So," he said bluntly, "how are we going to rescue her?"

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> I'd just like to thank all of you who have reviewed the past four chapters. I haven't had time to do review responses, but I do appreciate each and every review I get. They're all so encouraging, and they make me so enthusiastic about this story. So thank you. That being said, please leave a review for this chapter! I'd love to hear what you think!


	6. Into the Chamber

**Chapter 6: Into the Chamber**

Draco sat on the edge of the stair, Potter beside him and Weasley pacing back and forth before them, looking like he was on the verge of pulling his hair out.

"Bloody hell…bloody hell…bollocks, bollocks, bollocks…." Weasley's litany of curses was getting on his last nerve.

"Weasley, would you just _shut up_?" he snapped finally, rubbing his hands over his face. "You're not helping."

"Why don't you get off his back, Malfoy?" Potter retorted, "That's his sister down there."

He rolled his eyes. "Thank you, Potter, for stating the obvious."

"Hey!" Ron said, obviously balking at Draco's tone. "I don't even know what _you're_ doing here."

"How many times do you need it spelled out? I'm the closest thing your sister's got to a friend," he ground out.

"Well, I'm her brother, and—," Weasley continued.

"And a whole lot of good that did her," Draco muttered under his breath.

"_What_ did you just say?" Ron snapped, jaw grinding with anger and frustration.

Draco's eyes flashed. "You heard me," he returned, sitting forward threateningly. "When was the last time you gave two galleons about her, Weasley?"

Ron flushed to the roots of his hair, and Draco was impressed by his seemingly infinite ability to redden. "That's not –," he stammered.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Draco cut in sarcastically, "You probably don't have two galleons to rub together, do you? Let me re-phrase. When was the last time you gave two knuts about her?"

Ron lunged at him, and Draco pushed himself up to meet him, wand drawn, but Potter shoved between them before any blows could be dealt. "STOP IT!" he yelled. "This is _not bloody helping_! Why don't we figure out what we're going to do instead of fighting while _your_ sister," he glared at Ron, then turned to Draco, "and _your_…friend…is down there probably half dead!"

That sobered them somewhat, and Draco stepped back, thrusting his wand violently into his back pocket. The nerve of that infuriating _git_. He was no expert on Weasley family dynamics, but even _he_ had noticed that ever since the sorting, Ginny's brothers had avoided her like Dragon Pox, and it had only gotten worse after the holidays. Weasley hadn't exactly been tripping over himself to express his brotherly love over the past few months, so he did _not_ get to play that card now.

He exhaled heavily, swallowing his accusations. "Well, we might as well go find Lockhart. He's a bloody useless git, but he's got as much chance of knowing where the Chamber is as anyone, and he's going after Ginny. So since we don't have anything to go on…."

Potter and Weasley exchanged a sharp look, and Draco fell silent. The two seemed to be having some kind of telepathic conversation, and he rolled his eyes, forcing himself to sit back and let them sort it out. Finally, Potter spoke.

"We do know something…," he said slowly. He stopped.

"And…," he prompted.

Potter looked to his red-headed shadow again, who shook his head frantically.

Draco sighed. "Look, I am _not_ trying to sabotage you, and I think it's fairly obvious from the fact that I'm here that I didn't have anything to do with her disappearance or the attacks." From the glances they exchanged, he could see that those things were exactly what they had been worried about. "So why don't you two get off your damn high horses and tell me what you know so we can get Ginny out of that bloody chamber."

Weasley held his gaze for a moment, eyes narrowed, but then he huffed loudly and started pacing again. "The monster is a Basilisk. It's been moving through the pipes."

Draco's eyes widened. "And how exactly do you know all of this?" he asked.

"What's it to you?" Weasley challenged.

Draco swallowed a retort. "Well the important thing isn't that it moves through the pipes. It's how it gets out of the pipes and into the open to attack people. That's how we get into the Chamber."

Harry was nodding, and he began pacing too, running a hand through his hair. "Exactly," he murmured. "Last time the Chamber was opened, a girl died, and Aragog said she died in a bathroom…."

_Who the hell is Aragog?_ Draco thought, but he held his tongue. Potter seemed like he was on the verge of a breakthrough.

"So let's say it was Myrtle who was killed…."

Draco's brow furrowed. "_Mudblood Myrtle?_" he said incredulously.

Potter and Weasley's heads whipped around to look at him accusingly, and he raised his hands. "Don't get your wands in a knot," he said quickly. "That's what we call her."

"_Arse_," Weasley grumbled.

Potter glared at him, but continued. "So wouldn't it make sense for the entrance to the Chamber to be in the place where she died – the place she now haunts?"

"Wait," Ron said, "So you think…." He trailed off, brow furrowed.

Draco's mind was racing. "You think the entrance to the infamous Chamber of Secrets is in a girls' toilet," he said flatly.

"It's the best we have to go on right now," Harry said.

Draco nodded. It was worth a try, and anything was better than just standing around. "All right, let's go," he said, turning.

"Wait, what about Lockhart?" Potter said.

"What about him?" he asked, not turning.

"We should go to his office and tell him what we know."

At that, he paused and turned back to them. They hadn't moved from the staircase. "Or we could just go ourselves."

"He's a professor. We could use his help," Weasley put in.

Draco's eyes widened in frustration. "You two honestly think he's going to be useful? Have we not been taking the same Defense class for the last year?"

"So he exaggerates his accomplishments," Potter conceded. "But he's still an adult wizard, and he might know more than we do."

"Let's go get him," Weasley said, and he started off in the other direction.

"This is a bloody waste of time!" Draco said, voice rising.

Weasley glared at him. "We're doing this with or without you," he retorted, and Potter followed him down the hall. Draco stared disbelievingly after them. Bloody Lockhart was more likely to hurt them than help them, the idiot. In all the months of school, the man had yet to cast an effective spell. Potter ought to know that – he'd lost all the bones in his arm, for Merlin's sake! But Scarface and Githead were already rounding the corner. With a groan of frustration, Draco stalked after them.

* * *

><p>The scene in Lockhart's office would have made Draco laugh, if it wasn't so tragic. Lockhart's belongings were strewn across the room, thrown haphazardly in the general vicinity of the large trunks open on the floor. Draco observed wryly that Lockhart seemed to own at least five paintings of himself, all of which were currently scowling at Potter and Weasley.<p>

The professor was rummaging through the top drawer of his desk. "My dear boy, do use your common sense!" he was saying, tossing Potter a scornful look as he pulled out an assortment of hair combs, tied together by a bright purple ribbon. He considered them for a moment, then tossed them all into the nearest trunk. "My books wouldn't have sold half as well if people didn't think I did all those things!"

"You have _got_ to be joking!" Weasley replied indignantly.

Draco made a derisive sound, and all of the room's occupants – and the paintings – turned to glare at him. "Don't tell me this comes as a surprise," he said, addressing Potter and Weasley. "I'm just surprised he had it in him to cast all of those memory charms."

Potter turned back to Lockhart, nodding agreement. "You're an embarrassment," he said fiercely.

Lockhart pinked a bit, but he just pushed a lock of golden hair out of his face, and sighed. "Well, that may be, my boy," he said. "But none of you will have your memories long enough to tell the tale…."

He raised his wand, and his lips formed an "o," but Draco was faster. "_Expelliarmus!_" he yelled, and Lockhart's wand flew into his outstretched left hand.

The professor flushed red with rage. "You give that back!" he said indignantly, moving to come around his desk.

"Not likely," Draco replied coolly, and with one swift movement, he grabbed both ends of the wand and snapped it in half across his knee.

Lockhart's eyes widened into saucers, and Draco actually heard Weasley gasp. "How _dare_ you?" the professor said loudly, but there was fear in his eyes now, and a sheen of sweat was forming on his brow. "That was an expensive wand!"

"I'm sure the royalties from your books will pay for a replacement," he replied sarcastically. He turned to Potter and Weasley. "What shall we do with him? I'm partial to a really strong Stinging Hex myself. He's a little too fond of his perfect skin." Lockhart blanched.

"He's coming with us," Potter said firmly. "If he's going to write a book about this, he's doing it for real. He's not going to fraud his way out of this one."

"What use is he going to be without a wand?" Draco asked incredulously.

"Well you're the one who broke it!" Weasley said.

"Oh, so I should've just let him wipe our memories, is that it?" he retorted.

"Now, now, boys," Lockhart put in, "There's no need to fight about what to do with me. I'll be plenty satisfied staying here in captivity while you run off to fight the monster."

Draco narrowed his eyes. Lockhart's Adam's apple was bobbing nervously, and his whole face was sweaty with fear now. Perhaps the best punishment might be to bring him along after all. "No," he said casually, "I think Potter's right. He ought to come along. I think I quite fancy starring in his next book. _Battling the Basilisk_, it can be called. What do you think, Professor?" He looked up innocently.

Lockhart swallowed. "What's that you say? A…basilisk?" He was positively quivering with fear now, and Draco smirked with satisfaction.

"Yes, the monster's a basilisk. Didn't you know?" He jerked his head toward the door, voice hardening. "Now move it."

* * *

><p>The lisping, hissing sound that snaked from between Potter's lips made the hair on the back of Draco's neck stand on end. He shivered, remembering the way Potter had controlled the snake at the Dueling Club months ago, and the wand that he had trailed on Lockhart lowered a bit. He raised it back up immediately, but he saw the professor observe the movement keenly. The man was up to something and would have to be watched carefully.<p>

Suddenly, with the loud groan of stone against stone, the sink moved away to reveal a wide pipe that descended far into darkness. Cool air billowed out at them from below. They were all silent for what felt like minutes. The sound of water dripping echoed eerily from inside.

Potter cleared his throat. "Well, I suppose we'd better…."

"Him first," Weasley said sharply, nodding in Lockhart's direction.

"Couldn't agree more," Draco said. "Go on, then." Lockhart was white as a sheet, and when he didn't move for a moment, Draco prodded him in the back with the tip of his wand. With a pleading look, which got no sympathy from any of them, Lockhart climbed onto the lip of the pipe.

"Perhaps–"

"Go," Draco said sharply, and with a gulp and a wary glance at the wand pointed squarely at his face, Lockhart slid down the pipe and disappeared into the darkness. Draco waited until he heard the sound of Lockhart landing on the ground below, and a muffled "Oof!," and then he climbed in himself.

"Make sure you get your wand on him as soon as you're down there," Potter said warningly.

Draco raised his eyebrows. "Do I look like an idiot?" he said. Potter glared at him and opened his mouth. But before he could speak, Draco took a deep breath, swallowed the annoying fear mounting in his throat, and pushed himself into the abyss.

* * *

><p>Their footsteps echoed loudly around them as they made their way along, and Draco found that the passage had the strange effect of making words die in his throat. The rest of them must have felt it too, because they were silent as they walked. They had to step over puddles on the ground, and even the walls were damp. Draco's thoughts drifted to Ginny, who must have been absolutely terrified when she was brought down this corridor hours before…if she hadn't already been dead by then. The thought made him feel a bit colder. How had the basilisk gotten her down here, anyway? Had it coiled itself around her, or had it held her between its jaws as it snaked along?<p>

"What I don't understand…." Weasley's hushed voice pulled him from his thoughts. Draco looked over to see the other boy looking thoughtful. "What I don't understand," he started again, a little louder this time, "is why the attacks stopped last time the Chamber was opened."

Potter's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, the boy inside that weird diary you found…Tom whatever…turned Hagrid in, and the attacks stopped. But if Aragog was telling the truth, which it seems like he was, then Hagrid wasn't really responsible…which means the real culprit must have still been at large. So why did the attacks stop?"

Weasley's train of thought was circuitous, and Draco didn't understand half of what he was talking about, but one thing he'd said stuck out, making Draco's chest constrict with unease.

"Wait a second," he said sharply, "What did you just say about a diary?"

Potter looked at him quizzically. "I found a diary months ago, but it wasn't exactly normal." He paused and shook himself. "It's difficult to explain."

Draco's unease was mounting. "Try," he said firmly. The mention of a strange diary had triggered some other memory…what was it?

"It wrote back to me, and I could see the memories of the last person who owned it," Potter said.

Suddenly, an image of Ginny, pale-faced and tired, grimacing as she stuffed a black leather diary into her book bag, flashed across Draco's mind. There had been something distinctly suspicious about that diary. "What did it look like?" he said quickly.

Potter shrugged. "It was black, about this big….," he gestured with his hands. "But it doesn't matter anyway. Someone stole it from my dormitory ages ago, and it was wrong. Hagrid didn't open the Chamber."

That sounded exactly like the one he'd seen with Ginny all those months ago. But what did that have to do with anything? There was some connection here, he knew it. But he couldn't _quite_ grasp what it was...

Suddenly, Lockhart's gasped, and Draco looked up sharply. A giant, looping snake's skin rose up before them. Bile rose up in his throat, and he swallowed it, taking in the size of the skin. The monster – the _basilisk_ – that had shed it must have been over forty feet in length. Potter and Weasley came up beside him, eyes wide.

Just then, Lockhart made a whimpering sound and collapsed to the ground.

"Oh, bloody hell," Weasley said, moving forward. "The git's fainted." He knelt down beside the professor's prone body.

Draco saw Lockhart's twitch of movement out of the corner of his eye. "WEASLEY, WAIT!" he yelled, but in a moment, the professor had pushed the other boy aside and was standing, Weasley's Spell-o-Taped wand held aloft and the five-time Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile on his face.

"Well," he said loudly, flushing with triumph, "it appears that this little adventure has come to an end." Draco's thoughts flicked through a catalog of hexes, but the professor's eyes were fastened on his wand, alert for any sign of movement. "Don't worry, it will make a great book," he continued. "A bestseller, most likely! The poor girl, killed just in the flush of youth, and the three boys who lost their sanity at the sight of her mangled body."

Draco felt anger rise up in his chest. He was going to leave Ginny to die! "Lockhart, you foul excuse for a–," he spat.

"Ah, ah, ah," Lockhart chided. He narrowed his eyes at Draco. "I can't say I'll be sad to wipe _your_ mind clean." He paused and smiled winningly. "But time's ticking along, so I'll have to be going now." He made a twisting movement with Weasley's wand. "OBLIVIATE!"

It seemed to happen in slow motion. The broken wand sparked strangely, accompanied by a very loud BANG, and Lockhart's eyes widened as the spell backfired and a jet of bright light hit him square in the chest. His body flew back against the wall of the tunnel, and after the briefest moment of absolute shocked silence, there was an ominous rumble from above.

"Get out of the way!" Potter yelled, and Draco threw himself to the right just as stones began to rain down on them and the entire passageway collapsed in.

Draco found himself flat on his stomach. He coughed, groping for his wand as the dust settled around him. "Ron? Malfoy?" The voice came from a few feet before him.

"Here," he groaned, pushing himself slowly to his feet. Nothing seemed to be injured.

Potter was at his side in a moment. "You all right?" he asked. Draco nodded.

"Harry! Harry! Can you hear me?" Weasley's voice filtered through the wall of rocks that had formed, cutting off one side of the tunnel from the other. Potter clambered up a bit until he could see through a space between two stones.

"Ron? Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I think so. Bloody hell, what are we going to do now?"

"And Lockhart?"

There was a pause, and then they heard Lockhart's voice mumbling something incoherent. Another pause, then, "I think he's gone completely bonkers!"

Potter rubbed his hands over his face. "Bloody hell," he murmured.

"Harry, I don't think I can make it through anywhere!" Weasley was sounding increasingly panicked.

Draco tapped Potter on the shoulder. "We'll have to go on without him," he said in an undertone. Potter blinked, and Draco rolled his eyes. "I know you two will miss each other, but we don't have any other choice."

Potter considered shortly, then nodded. "Ron," he said through the space, "Malfoy and I are going to go on and get Ginny."

"Wha–"

"While we're gone," Draco cut in, "try to clear some rocks away. We'll need to be able to get through after we've gotten her."

There was a short silence, then, "All right. But try to hurry," he added. His voice quavered a bit with fear, but he cleared his throat loudly in an attempt to cover it up. "And be careful."

"We will," Draco said quickly. He and Harry exchanged a glance of apprehension. He exhaled and turned back to the darkness of the tunnel before them, and forced himself to continue on.

They walked in silence, and Draco felt fear building in his chest as each minute passed. The way behind them was blocked – until Weasley could clear it, anyway. There was no turning back, and there was a forty foot basilisk waiting somewhere before them. His heart was beating loudly in his chest, and he was convinced that Potter could hear it.

Then, quite suddenly, the tunnel ended, and they stood before a wall that filled their vision. Long, beady-eyed snakes were carved into the stone. Draco glanced at Potter, who swallowed and opened his mouth. That disconcerting hissing noise issued from between his lips. For a moment, Draco thought it hadn't worked. The wall still seemed as solid as ever. But then, with a harsh scraping sound, the carved snakes began to slither along the stone, and a moment later, the wall was open before them.

By now his eyes had adjusted to the half-light of the tunnel, so he could see quite clearly into the chamber that stretched before them. He gripped his wand tightly in his fist as they stepped over the threshold. The ground was even damper here, the sounds of dripping even more pronounced. Draco could hear his heart pounding in his ears now, and he was sure that the basilisk would attack from the dark recesses of the Chamber at any moment.

And then he saw her. She was lying at the far end, flat on her back with her face turned away from him. Her bright copper hair was splayed all around her, and Draco thought with a jolt that against the dark stone floor, it looked like blood. Her name ripped from his lips and he ran toward her, ignoring Potter's yell and any cautious instincts he had previously possessed, and he did not see the tall boy with the blurred edges who stepped out of the shadows before him.

* * *

><p>Ginny was dead.<p>

She was sure of it. She had been smothered, and now she was dead. The darkness had overwhelmed her, and she had been blind as she collapsed to the ground and felt cold stone against her skin. She had tried to focus on the sound of dripping water that echoed around her, but even that had faded into a heavy silence that pressed against her chest like a physical thing and stifled her breath.

"Ginny!" The sound cut through the darkness and rang in her ears, and it took her forever to realize that it was her name she was hearing. Who would be calling a dead girl's name? She tried to open her eyes to find out, but they seemed to be sealed shut. Every part of her body was too heavy to lift. She wondered if she was buried already and if the heaviness was all the dirt that they had heaped on top of her in the grave, and the thought of that, of being smothered alive in the dark, made a jolt of fear cut straight through her. She tried again to open her eyes, and when she couldn't, she tried harder. Her heartbeat was banging against her eardrums now, and every fiber in her body was strained in a desperate effort to _open her eyes_.

And then suddenly, they were open. She breathed a sigh of relief, and then she realized what her open eyes were seeing. She was looking down at herself, prone on the ground and as pale as a ghost. And kneeling over her body was Draco. _Draco?_ She looked down at her body and saw that she wasn't herself. She was in the body of a boy, tall and slim and dressed in Slytherin robes. But the boy was shimmering around the edges, blurred like ink that had smeared across a page. And she realized with a jolt that Tom's soul had been inside her body before, but now she was inside his.

_Ah, Harry Potter._ She heard Tom loud in her ear, and his eyes moved to watch Harry drop his wand and run toward her body. Tom's eyes moved back to Draco._ But who is the spare?_ _No matter. I shall dispense with him first._

Tom bent down to pick up Harry's wand, and then she felt his arm rise and saw the end of his wand pointing straight at Draco. _Avada–_

_NO!_ The word ripped from her throat, but her ears heard no sound, and she knew she had only thought it. But that was enough. She felt a blaze of anger that wasn't hers explode in Tom's chest. He had realized she was there.

_Why won't you just give up, Ginny Weasley?_ Tom no longer sounded amused, and before she could respond, she felt him pushing her down, back into blackness and heaviness. She struggled, straining to stay conscious and _alive_, but it was too much, and she couldn't see or hear or feel…and then nothing….

* * *

><p>She clawed her way back. And she saw through Tom's eyes for a split second before he pushed her out again. Images flashed before her – Tom's – eyes, and she clung to those images like she was clinging to life itself, and she probably was.<p>

_Words written in the air. TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE. I AM LORD VOLDEMORT._

_A bright red phoenix and the Sorting Hat_.

_Draco's voice, loud. "Fawkes! BLIND IT!" The roar of a creature and Tom's scream of fury._ Tom's anger flooded through her body, nearly choking her, but she forced her eyes open for just a moment longer. _Harry standing atop the statue of Salazar Slytherin, a shining sword – sword? – in his right hand. The sword thrust through the roof of the monster's mouth_, and this time Tom's fury hit her like a wave and she was pulled under again.

_Harry, bent over his arm. It was bleeding. _Tom's triumphant glee was palpable within her, and now he was speaking, gloating, but Ginny wasn't listening, because _Draco was holding the basilisk fang that was half-drenched in blood, and there was anger and defiance in his eyes. And he looked at Tom – and it was as if he was seeing through Tom and looking straight at her, and she would remember the look in those gray eyes forever – and lifting the fang high, he drove it straight into the diary that lay open on the stone beside him._

She felt an explosion of pain so fierce and burning that she thought she was being ripped apart at the seams. For the first time, she willed herself back into the darkness. She wanted to get away from the pain. She wanted the dullness and the blackness. She wanted anything but the searing, blistering pain that was running through her veins and rending her apart. And then all of a sudden the pain was gone, and her eyes flew open and she knew immediately that they were _her eyes_ again, and they were looking into gray eyes, darkened to mercury, that were wide with desperation and pain. She was gasping for breath, and it wasn't a struggle anymore, and the air felt crisp and cool and _light_ as it filled her lungs.

"Ginny…bloody hell, we thought you were dead…," Draco murmured, and she realized that his hand was gripping hers. She squeezed it, and he shut his eyes with relief.

And then he turned away, and she followed his gaze to Harry, who was gripping his arm, his face pale. He was bleeding more than before, and his body was shaking. When he exhaled, his breathing was ragged with pain.

Her hand still grasping Draco's, she pushed herself up. "Merlin, Harry…," she said, and her voice was hoarse. She felt her eyes swimming with tears. There was a rustling sound, and the phoenix flitted down beside them and nestled its head into the crook of Harry's arm. She realized it was crying – she hadn't known that birds could cry – and then she remembered what her mother had always told her. Phoenix tears healed all wounds. When the droplets fell, the gash in Harry's arm disappeared, and the only evidence of the deathblow he had taken was the ripped and bloodied sleeve of his robes.

Ginny could have laughed with relief, and beside her, Draco _did_ laugh. And as they stood and walked away, leaving the defeated basilisk and the Chamber of Secrets behind them, she never let go of his hand.

* * *

><p>Ginny lay outstretched on the sofa for several minutes, staring up at the ceiling, afraid to close her eyes. Falling asleep was too close to dying, and she had died too many times tonight.<p>

Her parents had been in Dumbledore's office, all tears and panic, and they had drawn her into a tight embrace. When she looked up, Draco was gone. It was Draco's father who had put the diary into her cauldron in the first place. It couldn't be proven, but that was the fact of the matter. Her parents told her that as though it was all she needed to know, and then they told her that Dumbledore had agreed to move her into Gryffindor. She told them she was staying in Slytherin, she _was_ a Slytherin, and her mother had replied that Tom Riddle – He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named – had possessed her, and the Sorting Hat had only seen the part of him that was inside her when it looked into her soul. She repeated, quite calmly, that she was a Slytherin, and neither her father's desperate entreaties nor her mother's disappointed anger could make her change her mind.

The distinct sounds of someone coming down the stairs drew her from her thoughts. She pushed herself into a half-sitting position and was surprised to see Draco step into the Common Room.

"What are you doing down here?" she murmured.

"I could ask you the same," he replied. The bottoms of his black pajama bottoms brushed the floor as he walked right up to her and settled himself on the end of her couch.

She didn't answer, and he held her gaze, eyebrows raised.

"Thank you," she said finally, "for what you did."

His lips twitched with something between a smile and a smirk. "You're welcome, Weasley," he said. "Apparently being your friend is a dangerous business."

He had meant it as a joke, she could tell, but she felt a stab of guilt in her stomach. He must have read it on her face, because he said, "They finally distilled out the cure from the mandrakes. The people in the hospital wing will be fine by morning."

She exhaled. "I know. I almost killed them though, didn't I?"

"No," Draco said flatly. "The Dark Lord almost killed them, not you. He used you."

"I let him," she replied harshly, her anger at herself filtering into her voice.

He nodded. "Yes, you did," he said. "And it was pretty moronic of you to write in a book that wrote back."

Whatever she had expected him to say, _that _was not it. She glared at him. "You're a git, you know that?"

He smiled wryly. "_But_," he continued. "You resisted the greatest dark wizard of our time for…what? Seven months? And he said you even tried to throw the diary away in Myrtle's bathroom."

She nodded. "I was proud of you when he said that," he said seriously, holding her gaze for a moment before looking away. They were silent for a moment, and Ginny rubbed her hands up and down the fronts of her legs, lost in thought.

"So what do I do now?" she murmured, almost to herself.

Draco looked at her, considering. He shrugged. "I guess…you get on with your life. Prove to yourself that there's still a Ginny Weasley without Tom Riddle."

"You might not like me anymore, you know," she retorted challengingly. "Maybe everything you liked about me was actually Tom."

He arched an eyebrow. "Who says I liked you to begin with?"

She rolled her eyes, but she felt a smile twitch at the corner of her mouth. "Anyway, I'm willing to take the risk," he continued.

She didn't know quite what to say to that, so she just nodded.

"So what are you doing down here, anyway?" he asked.

"I couldn't sleep upstairs," she answered honestly. "Too much…." She didn't finish her sentence, but Draco nodded shortly so she didn't feel obliged to continue.

"Well it doesn't seem like you're sleeping much down here either," he commented.

She shrugged. "Rather uncomfortable with my own thoughts at the moment, if you must know," she said. When she looked up, he was regarding her seriously.

"Well," he said suddenly, with a bright tone that made her narrow her eyes at him. He paused and glanced around the room. His eyes landed on a textbook that someone had left on the edge of the side table. "I've got to do some reading for History of Magic, and since my father is constantly lecturing me about my horrible diction, I'm going to read aloud."

"Must you?" she said, arching an eyebrow skeptically.

"Yes, Weasley, I must," he replied. He flipped the book open. "Ah, perfect." He cleared his throat and began. "The twenty year period between the First and Second Goblin Rebellions is often considered the most boring period in Wizarding history."

Ginny surprised herself by laughing aloud. It was the first time she'd laughed in what felt like ages. "It does _not_ say that."

Draco turned the book around and pointed to the text. "I don't mess around when it comes to history, Weasley," he quipped. "Now do you want to know about the most boring period in Wizarding history or not?"

"All ears," she said.

"During this period, various accords were signed between goblins and wizards, all of which would later be overturned during the Second Rebellion. The first, second, and third accords pertained to the division of land and livestock in the region of…."

"This is incredibly boring," Ginny interrupted, lips turning up at the corners.

"Well if it's so _boring_," Draco countered, "Then why don't you just go to sleep."

She glanced up at him. He was looking back at her, eyebrows raised meaningfully, and she exhaled. She smiled, then, and the slightest of smiles twitched at his lips before it fell back into a self-satisfied smirk. She rolled her eyes and scooted down on the sofa so that she lay flat on her back.

He continued reading, adjusting his voice to a low murmur. Ginny allowed herself to shut her eyes, focusing on the sound of the words and the surprisingly reassuring pressure where the soles of her blanket-wrapped feet pressed up against the side of Draco's thigh. And finally, with his soft murmur keeping dark thoughts at bay, she fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> I had so much fun writing this chapter, and I'm pretty happy with how it turned out! This is the end of Ginny's first year...the next chapter will be the summer. Not all of the years will be this many chapters, but I thought her first year merited the length because it's so central to Ginny's character. Plus, the DG friendship needs a solid foundation! Anyway, please leave a review! Thank you to all of you who have been reviewing - I'd love to hear what the rest of you are thinking!


	7. Letters from Egypt

**Chapter 7: Letters from Egypt**

Draco stepped out of the grate and into the wide foyer, brushing the soot off of his pant legs.

"Welcome home, Master Draco." Gerald, his family's thin, solemn Head House-elf swept a deep bow. "I trust you had a productive school year."

Joining the Quidditch team, befriending a Weasley, destroying the sixteen-year-old memory of the Dark Lord…. He smirked. "Yes," he replied, "It was quite productive."

"Very good, Sir," Gerald said. "Your parents asked that you join them in the drawing room upon arrival."

Draco felt a flash of resentment at the mention of his parents. His father had just been at Hogwarts, practically admitting to putting Tom Riddle's diary in Ginny's cauldron over the summer. He had looked absolutely furious when Dumbledore explained Draco's involvement in the rescue, but after Potter freed Dobby, he had stormed from the castle – and they hadn't had a chance to discuss any of it. It was going to be a confrontation, and Draco was _not_ looking forward to it.

Looking down at Gerald, Draco took a short moment to silently curse Potter. Gerald was an uptight bastard, never hesitating to report his every infraction to his parents. At least Dobby had been amusing.

"I'll go now," he said. "Make sure Dusty puts Ares in the Owlery and gets him food and water."

"Yes, Sir. I'll also have him bring your trunk up to your room."

He nodded, and Gerald gave another low bow and moved off. Sighing, he crossed the marble floor and walked down the leftmost hall to the drawing room. The door was partially open, and he knocked lightly before stepping inside.

"Draco, darling!" His mother stood to embrace him. Draco thought she was wearing more perfume than she ought to. "Dusty wasn't late picking you up at the station, was he? I warned him not to be."

"He was there when I arrived," he replied. "Father." He nodded a greeting to his father, who was sitting in a high-backed chair, a stack of official-looking papers balanced on his knee.

"Why don't you sit?" Lucius Malfoy replied shortly, glancing up. Draco sat on the long sofa, and his mother settled herself beside him, placing a hand affectionately on his knee.

"Good," his mother continued. "It's so difficult to get decent help these days. I was just talking to Lucilla Parkinson last week and she said one of her elves ran off. Can you imagine the nerve?"

"I thought Mrs. Parkinson put tracking spells on them," Draco said.

"She did, ages ago, so she found the faithless thing, of course. But she'll never be able to trust it again, will she?"

He shrugged. "No, I suppose not."

"An untrustworthy House-elf isn't worth the trouble. She should just get rid of it," his father said, running his fingers down a long list of figures on the page before him.

His mother sat back on the sofa. "I'm sure she will."

There was a slight lull in the conversation, and Draco watched his mother survey him. "So dear," she said finally, "I've been worried about you. Your father told me you went into Slytherin's Chamber. I don't know what possessed you – you could have died!"

"_My_ being possessed wasn't the problem, actually," he replied wryly.

His father didn't look up, but his lips pursed into a thin line. "That Weasley girl deserved it, if you ask me…writing in a dark object. What did she expect?"

Draco felt a twinge of anger. He had expected his father to act this way. The man had always been callous, and on more than one occasion, Draco had admired his ability to get his way, whatever the cost, and to feel no remorse. But for once, he couldn't find it in himself to let it pass. "What did _you_ expect when you put that diary in with her school things?" he said, unable to keep himself from sounding accusatory.

His father looked up sharply. "Don't take that tone with me, Draco," he said coldly.

"Did you think she'd use it for decoration?" Draco continued, heedless. "Of course she was going to write in it."

His father met his gaze, eyes hard, and Draco had to force himself not to look away. "I will do what I like with my possessions," Lucius said slowly, warningly, "and you will not question me, end of discussion."

Draco's eyes flashed. He hadn't realized just how angry he was with his father for giving Ginny the diary, and his mother's tightening grip on his knee did nothing to quell the indignation building in his chest.

Lucius was still speaking. "And, if you ask me," he continued, turning back to his papers, "the girl should be thanking me. Maybe now her father will keep a closer eye on his brood."

Draco nearly choked. "Thanking you?" he said incredulously. "She could have _died_!" His voice had risen, and it sounded incredibly loud in his ears. He couldn't remember ever yelling in this house. "Any of those Muggleborns that were petrified could have died. _I _came pretty near to it too, by the way!"

His father pushed his papers aside and sat forward in his seat, his gray eyes like flints. "Those _Mudbloods_ don't belong at that school anyway," he hissed. His voice was low and dangerous. "And _you_ should not have been anywhere near that Chamber. Imagine my surprise when I find out that my son saw fit to risk his life for some stupid little blood traitor. _Imagine my surprise_ when Dumbledore tells me that you've been associating yourself with her for the entire year."

"She's one of my friends!" Draco retorted. "Which you probably would have known if you hadn't spent the entire year hiding your collection of dark artifacts from Ministry officials. Did you give them _all_ to eleven-year-old girls, or just the one?"

His father pushed himself out of the chair and stood above him, towering with fury.

"Draco!" his mother said, obviously shocked at how quickly the conversation had turned. "Your father had no idea how that diary would –"

"I should have expected you to defend him," Draco snapped, getting up off the sofa and away from his mother's grip.

"How _dare_ you speak to your mother and me this way!" his father shouted. He raised a hand, and Draco flinched back, expecting a blow.

When he looked back up, his father's palm was poised in the air, and Draco felt a sharp stab of defiance. "What, not going to do it?" he spat. "No old diary to do your dirty work?"

His father's eyes flashed with rage, and with one swift downward stroke, he slapped Draco across the face. It stung enough to make his eyes water slightly, but Draco resisted the reflex to press his palm against the cheek.

"Lucius!" his mother whispered, covering her mouth with her hand.

Draco's held his father's gaze, and after a moment of stunned silence, he turned away. As he walked out of the room, he realized that this was the first time he had really, purposefully disrespected his parents. And he didn't regret it at all.

* * *

><p>That evening, Draco ignored the dinner bell. He lay in bed staring up at the enchanted canopy overhead. His eyes traced over the familiar constellations. His own was right in the center – <em>Draco<em>, the dragon.

He didn't look up when he heard the light knock and the footsteps entering the room an hour later. "I don't want to discuss it, Mother," he said flatly. He continued to stare determinedly upward as she sat down beside him on the bed, the mattress sinking a little under her weight.

"Your father is sorry he hit you," she said gently.

He snorted. "I can tell when you're lying, Mother."

She sighed. "Well, you did provoke him."

"He deserved it," he replied. He sat up to face her. "You have no idea how close we all came to dying."

"That's just the thing, Draco," she said earnestly. "Your father and I simply do not understand why _you_ had to be involved at all. Molly Weasley's daughter wrote in that book. She and her family should be the ones to deal with the consequences."

Draco sighed. His mother could be so out of touch sometimes, but he could never find it in himself to get truly angry at her. "She wouldn't have written in the diary if father hadn't given it to her in the first place," he replied wearily. "And even if our family hadn't been involved at all, Ginny Weasley is my friend, and what was I supposed to do? Let her die?"

"It's not your job to save your friends from their own mistakes, Draco," she answered, as if that was the most obvious thing in the world.

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Apparently loyalty to friends isn't particularly valued in our family," he said flatly.

"Don't give me that attitude, Draco," his mother said sternly. "You know that we value loyalty – loyalty to _this family_. That is the most important thing. And that's another cause for concern. Spending so much time with a Weasley is beneath you, dear."

"She's Pureblood and in Slytherin, Mother. What more do you want?" he said, annoyed.

His mother regarded him seriously for a moment, then exhaled heavily. "Do I need to remind you about Andromeda?"

This time, Draco really did roll his eyes. "_No_, I know all about your disgrace of a sister who married some random, bumbling Muggle."

"Exactly," she said. "And it almost broke my poor mother's heart."

"I wasn't aware Grandmother Druella had a heart," Draco muttered under his breath.

His mother continued on as if she hadn't heard. "Do you want to break your mother's heart, Draco?"

"Merlin, Mother," he snapped. "It's not like I'm going to marry her, all right?"

"Good," she replied. "Now, go and apologize to your father. The things you said to him were inexcusably rude."

Draco sighed. "Mother –"

"Do it for me, then," she said. "I simply cannot tolerate all of this tension between the two of you."

He met her eyes. "Fine," he said finally, scooting off of the bed.

"He's in his study."

Draco exited his room and crossed the length of the manor to his father's private study. He would apologize, but he really _was_ only doing it for his mother. She wasn't nearly as cold as his father, and he loved her.

But, he thought, she was a weak woman. She never contradicted her husband – _ever_ – and Draco couldn't remember her ever expressing an opinion of her own. The realization gave him a strange twinge of discomfort.

He had always wanted to marry a woman just like her, but now he realized that a woman like that would probably bore him to death.

* * *

><p>It was late in the evening, and the party guests were beginning to take their leave. He and Blaise were sitting by the fire, Butterbeers in hand.<p>

"I would say that was a success, mate," Blaise said, raising his glass in salute. "Happy birthday to you."

Draco smirked. "Oh, you mean a success _besides _the fact that Rabastan was flirting shamelessly with your mum?"

"Are you kidding? That was part of the success," Blaise said, grinning. "My stepdad's facial expressions kept me laughing the entire night."

Draco snorted into his glass.

"Speaking of flirting," Blaise continued. "Pansy was all over you tonight."

"Pansy's always hung around me," he replied skeptically. "I didn't notice a difference."

Blaise rolled his eyes. "Batting her eyelashes, touching your shoulders…I almost lost my dinner." He looked at Draco speculatively. "She's not too bad looking, though."

Draco shrugged. "She's all right."

"And I bet she would hex off her own nose for a chance to be Draco Malfoy's girlfriend."

"I think that would make her significantly less attractive," Draco quipped. "And I don't know who would be more thrilled if we got together – Pansy or my mother."

Blaise laughed, and opened his mouth to reply.

"Draco, darling!" His mother's voice cut into their conversation, and he looked up to see her approaching, a glass of champagne in one hand and a package in the other. "Another gift just came for you. It was a foreign post bird – who do you know in Egypt?"

His brow furrowed as he took the package. "No one," he said, but his mother had already retreated back to the circle of laughing adults on the other side of the room.

"Well, let's see it then," Blaise said, raising his eyebrows.

Draco ripped off the outer packaging to reveal a small white box. A square card slid onto the floor. Blaise picked it up and read it, eyebrows rising to his hairline. "What the hell is Weasley doing in Egypt?" he said, proffering the card.

Draco skimmed it, the corners of his lips tugging into a small smirk.

"_Malfoy –_

_I heard Neville Longbottom had one of these your first year and you were so jealous that you stole it. Never fear, now you have one of your very own._

_Enjoy, and happy birthday to the thirteen-year-old who has everything, including a very slick Nimbus 2001 and an ego the size of a house. _

_Yours truly, Ginny_"

Grinning now, he opened the white box and pulled out a round glass ball, about as big as his fist. He tossed it between his hands and clear smoke swirled inside.

Blaise threw back his head and laughed. "I had forgotten all about Longbottom's Remembrall," he said, catching his breath. "That girl is hilarious."

"Didn't I tell you?" Draco replied.

"What's going on with you two, anyway?"

"What do you mean?"

Blaise shrugged. "Usually, when two people disappear for an entire evening and then the whole House comes down to find them sleeping on a sofa together, there's something going on."

Draco rolled his eyes. The morning after they'd come out of the Chamber, he had read aloud from the History of Magic textbook until Ginny fell asleep. Which, he thought wryly, had taken all of five minutes flat. Binns really ought to consider assigning a different book. In any case, he had fallen asleep down there as well, and he'd only woken up when a group of gawking early-risers had come down to the Common Room the next morning. "We're friends," he said shortly.

"You're really not going to tell me where the two of you disappeared to for five hours?"

Draco smirked. "No."

"Hey!" Blaise countered, shooting him a glare of mock offense. "I'm your friend."

"Exactly," Draco replied smoothly, "Which is why I won't tell Weasley about the time we found that Boggart in your basement and you pissed your pants."

Blaise laughed. "Fair enough, I suppose."

"Blaise, dear, I think we'd better head home now." They looked up to see Blaise's mum leaning casually on the back of her son's armchair and holding a glass of red wine between her long, slender fingers.

"All right," Blaise said, standing. "See you later, mate. Happy birthday."

Half an hour later, when all of the guests had left and the House-elves had started cleaning up downstairs, Draco retreated to his room. He set Ginny's gift down on his desk and re-read the card. It still made him grin the second time around. He sank into his chair and dug out a fresh sheet of parchment and a quill. Pulling his favorite pot of deep green ink toward him, he began to write.

* * *

><p>"<em>Weasley –<em>

_Thank you for the Remembrall and for your usual cheek. Blaise and I had a good laugh. By the way, what the hell are you doing in Egypt?_

_Un-forgetfully yours, Draco_"

* * *

><p>"<em>Malfoy –<em>

_Glad you like the gift. I considered getting you a castle, but couldn't decide on a color. The Remembrall's specially charmed, you know. It shows you what you're forgetting, instead of just turning red. Handy, huh?_

_How did you know I was in Egypt? My dad won a Daily Prophet drawing, so we're here visiting my brother Bill._

_Cheekily yours, Ginny_"

* * *

><p>"<em>Ginny –<em>

_Very handy, thanks. And the owl looked like Cleopatra. It had nothing to do with the stamp on the package that said Ptolemy Post._

_Snarky as always, Draco_

_P.S. Met any mummies?_"

* * *

><p>"<em>Draco –<em>

_No, but we did meet this nice, old witch who kept following me around the market trying to sell me freckle-remover. Lovely woman._

_Miffed, Ginny_"

* * *

><p>"<em>Ginny –<em>

_I hope you bought loads of that stuff._

_Courteously yours, Draco_"

* * *

><p>"<em>Draco –<em>

_No, but I did try to buy you a cure for albinism. Unfortunately, she was all out._

_Just as courteously, Ginny_"

* * *

><p>"<em>Ginny<em> –

_Nice try, but I happen to know that albinism is very popular with the ladies. Just ask Parkinson. I think Blaise's exact words were: 'She would hex off her own nose for a chance to be Draco Malfoy's girlfriend.'_

_Take that, freckles, Draco_"

* * *

><p>"<em>Draco –<em>

_So Pansy's got her eye on you, eh? That's about as big a surprise as the Cannons big loss last week. Speaking of which, been practicing?_

_Your friend in foreign lands, Ginny_"

* * *

><p>"<em>Ginny – <em>

_A little. Are you trying out this year?_

_Inquisitively, Draco_"

* * *

><p>"<em>Draco –<em>

_I've heard Flint is a real arse when it comes to try-outs, but probably. Why?_

_Chaser-hopeful, Ginny_"

* * *

><p>"<em>Ginny –<em>

_He is, but power through. We could use you. I'm not going to be setting any records. What were you saying about an ego the size of a house?_

_Self-deprecatingly, Draco_"

* * *

><p>"<em>Stranger –<em>

_Who are you and what have you done with Draco? It's true, you're kind of rubbish on a broom. I hear you're pretty good with a basilisk fang, though. Do people know about the Chamber, by the way? I figure I should be prepared._

_Ginny, pseudo-Heir-of-Slytherin_"

* * *

><p>"<em>Ginny –<em>

_I won't tell if you won't. How are you holding up?_

_Sincerely (seriously), Draco_"

* * *

><p>"<em>Draco –<em>

_I've been better, but the nightmares are fading. Thanks for asking. I'm back on British soil. It's cold._

_Shivering, Ginny_"

* * *

><p>"<em>Ginny –<em>

_A few weeks abroad and you're already spoiled. I saw your family in the Prophet. You're definitely the least ugly, though your brother's pet rat is a close second._

_Complimentarily yours, Draco_

_P.S. Isn't your birthday coming up? What do you want?_"

* * *

><p>"<em>Draco –<em>

_You know your compliments? Stop giving them. And yes, it's August 11th. Don't worry about a gift, though. I doubt you can upstage me and that frankly amazing Remembrall._

_Ron's Care of Magical Creatures textbook has been trying to eat him. He figures he'll have to open it on the first day of class, so I give him exactly two weeks to live._

_Looking forward to getting out of this house, Ginny_"

* * *

><p>"<em>Ginny –<em>

_Consider yourself upstaged. See you on the platform in a week._

_Happy birthday from, Draco_

_P.S. You better make the damn team._"

* * *

><p>"Have a good year, darling." Draco turned his cheek for his mother's kiss. A few feet away, Dusty the House-elf was loading his trunk onto the Express.<p>

"Do _try_ not to get in any more trouble," his father said coolly. Draco gave him a slight nod.

"Don't worry, Mr. Malfoy," Pansy said smoothly. She and her parents came up beside them. "I'll look out for him."

Lucius gave her a tight smile before turning to greet her father.

"Excited to go back, Draco?" Pansy continued as the adults fell into conversation.

"I suppose so," he said. "Is that a new owl?" He nodded toward the dark eagle owl that her House-elf was currently bringing onto the train.

"Yes!" she said, eyes gleaming happily. "I haven't decided on a name yet. Do you have any –"

Suddenly, a darting red blur flew toward him, and he nearly fell over from the force of collision.

"What the –" Pansy shrieked.

It took him a full second to realize that he was being hugged fiercely. "Weasley, what the hell?" he said sharply. When he pulled away, he saw that she was flushed and smiling widely. The summer had worked wonders; she looked so much more carefree than she had at the end of last year. Her giddiness made him grin.

"Upstaged indeed," she said. "You bloody show-off!"

His grin widened. "I see you got my gift."

"Got it?" she said, "I already took it out for a test run. I mean, it's a _Cleansweep Seven_!"

"And?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

"As good as advertised," she said.

"Then I suppose I'm a satisfied consumer," he replied.

"You should be. Thank you," she said genuinely, meeting his eyes.

Pansy cleared her throat loudly. "Don't you think we had better get on the train," she said, annoyance evident in her tone.

Draco realized that the group of adults behind them had become conspicuously silent, and he looked up to see them all staring. Mr. and Mrs. Parkinson's mouths were open in shock, his mother looked distinctly uncomfortable, and his father's jaw was clamped tight with anger. A quick look down the platform revealed an equally indignant-looking Weasley family.

"Yes, let's," Draco said.

* * *

><p>Crabbe and Goyle had already claimed a compartment, and Ginny sank down across from Draco. Pansy took the seat beside him, looking thoroughly pleased with the seating arrangement. He draped an arm casually around her shoulders, and she beamed.<p>

Ginny caught his eye and made a disgusted face. He smirked.

She glanced out the window as the train began to roll out of the station. She didn't see her parents; they must have taken off as soon as she boarded.

"What happened out on the platform?" Blaise appeared in the doorway and leaned casually against the frame for a moment before sinking into the empty seat beside her. "Your parents looked ready to kill," he added, looking at Draco.

"Weasley here practically attacked him," Pansy said.

"He bought me a Cleansweep Seven," Ginny explained.

Blaise's eyebrows went up, and she saw him shoot a surprised glance at Draco. "Are you trying out for the team this year?" he asked, turning back to her.

"Yeah, probably. Chaser."

Blaise looked impressed. "I'm a Chaser too. Are you any good?"

"I wouldn't underestimate her," Draco said. "She's been playing against her gaggle of brothers for years."

Ginny nodded, a smile playing around her lips. "Trial by gingers."

Blaise and Draco burst into laughter, and Pansy leaned back against Draco's arm, a scowl on her face.

The train barreled through the countryside, and they talked easily as the hours passed.

"I think I'm going to get a pasty," Crabbe said. "Anyone want anything?" There were shaking heads all around as he left the compartment.

"So do you reckon the Ministry will catch Black?" Blaise asked speculatively.

"My parents figured he would go to your family, Draco," Pansy said. "Isn't your mum his last relative not in Azkaban?"

"Wait, really?" Ginny asked, obviously surprised.

Draco nodded. "Something like that. They're cousins."

"Bloody hell," she swore.

"Potter must be scared out of his wits," Blaise commented. "That or bent on revenge."

"I don't think Harry knows actually," Ginny said. "About why Black was in prison in the first place."

They all turned to her. "And no one's told him?" Draco asked.

She shrugged. "I don't think so."

Blaise laughed. "Wow, that's cold."

"Hey," Crabbe said as he came back in. He spewed bits of pasty everywhere with each word. "Who's the old man in Scarface's compartment?"

"What are you on about, Crabbe?" Draco asked, rolling his eyes.

"There's some old bloke asleep in there. He looks like a homeless –"

Suddenly, the light in the compartment went out, and with a loud creaking sound that made Ginny's teeth hurt, the train ground to a halt. She looked out of the window. The sky was the inky blue of twilight, but the countryside looked calm enough.

"What the hell –" Blaise stood and opened the compartment door to glance out. "Lights are out all along the train," he said.

Draco disentangled himself from Pansy and joined Blaise at the compartment door. "Maybe the –"

He was cut off by a loud shriek from further up the train, and Ginny felt a sharp jolt of fear. Frightened yells began to sound along the hall outside, and they were getting closer and closer. She hated herself for freezing up, but she found that she was shrinking farther and farther back into the corner.

"Bloody hell," Blaise murmured, and she could hear the thread of fear in his voice at the sight of whatever was out there, moving along the train. A wave of cold seeped into the compartment, and Ginny's heart began to pound as her breath came out in puffs of visible air before her.

"Get back," Draco said quickly. Blaise stepped back and Draco reached to shut the door.

But suddenly a large shape darkened the doorway, and Draco retreated back into the compartment. The figure was swathed in a cloak of shredded black cloth. It towered over them, it's breath coming out as a rattle. The cold seemed to reach into Ginny's insides, and now it turned to her, and she knew that it was _looking_ at her, even though all she could see beneath its hood was a dark hole of black.

She began to feel heavy, and an all-too-familiar blackness began to bleed in at the corners of her vision. She could identify the feeling now – her soul was being taken, just like it had been taken by Tom – and she began to panic. Her heartbeat was loud in her ears, but the figure was still looking at her, its head tilted a little to one side, and the blackness was seeping farther and farther in, blinding her….

_Why won't you just give up, Ginny Weasley?_ She heard the voice as if Tom was sitting right next to her, whispering in her ear. Her throat closed up with fear.

And suddenly she knew no more.

* * *

><p>"Ginny, it's gone." She heard the voice before she opened her eyes. She felt groggy, and she groaned a little as she pushed herself up. The light in the compartment was back on, and Draco was kneeling over her, his gray eyes dark with concern. "Are you okay?"<p>

She nodded. "It felt like Tom. I heard –" She stopped herself short, noticing the other faces peering at her from above.

"Somebody get her a chocolate frog," Draco said, glancing behind him. She saw Blaise leave the compartment.

"What was it?" she asked.

"A Dementor. I saw them once, when I went to visit my Aunt Bellatrix in Azkaban. They serve as prison guards there."

Blaise came back in and handed Draco a wrapped frog. "Here," Draco said, helping her back into her seat, "Chocolate helps." He broke off a piece of the frog and proffered it. "Eat it."

She chewed and swallowed, and immediately felt warmth fill her body. "Why were they on the train?" she asked.

"Probably looking for Black," he said.

She glanced around. "And no one else fainted?"

He shook his head.

"I think Potter did, actually," Blaise said. "A couple compartments down."

Ginny nodded. "Oh." There was a rumble beneath them as the train started moving again.

Draco put a hand on her arm. "Ginny?" She looked up and met his eyes. He broke off another piece of chocolate. "Finish the frog."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Random thing - I realized as I was writing this that in a previous chapter, I said that Draco owns a tawny owl, but according to HP Wiki, he actually has an eagle owl. Sorry about that slight breach of canon.

I hope the format of this chapter wasn't too confusing. I really enjoyed writing the letters, especially! Thank you to all of you who have been reviewing - you guys are so encouraging! Keep 'em coming! There are also a lot of people who have been putting this story on their alerts or favorites - if you do that, please leave a review as well. I want to hear from all of you!


	8. Of Bludgers and Buckbeak

**Author's Note:** Thank you for the reviews - you guys are awesome!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 8: Of Bludgers and Buckbeak<strong>

"Weasley, be careful you don't knock over your pumpkin juice when you faint!"

Ginny shot Marcus a skeptical look as she sank onto the bench. "Honestly, Flint? How long did it take you to come up with that one?"

His grin faltered a bit, and he glared at her, but he recovered himself quickly and made another comment under his breath. The boys around him laughed.

Ginny rolled her eyes and took a long swig from her cup. The incident on the train had made her an easy target for Flint and his friends. It was nothing she couldn't handle, but she did wish they would come up with more intelligent insults. The constant barrage of stupidity was straining her nerves.

"You really shouldn't provoke him," Draco said. "Quidditch try-outs are in an hour. You're only making it worse for yourself."

"Yeah, and for me," Blaise added.

She raised her eyebrows at Draco. "Not you?"

"No one's trying out for Seeker," he replied with a shrug.

"Flint wouldn't replace you even if there was," Blaise said flatly.

Ginny smirked. "He likes his new broom too much."

Draco scowled at them, and Blaise laughed. She nudged his leg good-naturedly. "You still coming, though?"

"Of course. A whole hour of Flint yelling at you through his over-large jaw?" He smirked. "I'm bringing popcorn." Ginny grinned at that.

"Anyway," he continued, "there'll be loads of people there. Try-outs are a popular event."

She took a bite of her sandwich. "Why?"

"Infinite opportunities for mocking," Blaise said.

"Ah," she said, "I should have known." She paused and took another swig of juice. "Do we know everyone who's trying out?" she asked finally.

"Well Pucey's marks were so bad last year that his parents are making him sit this season out. So with Flint as captain," Blaise said, "there are two open Chaser spots, and four of us trying out." He counted off the names on his fingers. "Montague, Warrington, me, and you."

"That's not bad odds."

"Except for the fact that Flint wants Montague and Warrington," Draco said, "They're all friends."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Intelligence levels of trolls, then," she said, glancing over at Flint and his group.

"Yeah, but the size of trolls, too," Draco replied. "Bletchley's the only one going for Keeper, and I think there are two boys from your year trying out for Beater against Derrick and Bole."

"That one could get ugly," Blaise commented.

Draco smirked. "And not just because of Bole's looks."

* * *

><p>Half an hour later, the three of them strode out to the Quidditch pitch. The sun was high in the sky, and Draco had been right – about thirty spectators sat in the stands, laughing and chattering. Apparently the try-outs would be providing Saturday afternoon's entertainment.<p>

She sank down in the front, next to two boys that she vaguely recognized from her classes. She hadn't bothered to learn their names. Her brothers were all friends with everyone in their year, but in Slytherin, you didn't just befriend people for the sake of it.

"Draco, up here!" Pansy and Daphne were sitting four rows up, waving down to Draco.

"Your fan club awaits," Ginny said dryly. Draco smirked.

"Good luck, mate," he said, turning to Blaise. "And I expect to see that Cleansweep at practices, Gin," he added. He gave her a wink and turned to climb up the bleachers. As he sat down next to Pansy, he leaned over and said something in her ear. Pansy laughed loudly.

Ginny resisted the urge to make a disgusted sound. She honestly could not understand why Draco was friends with that girl. "Are they seeing each other or something?" she asked speculatively.

Blaise laughed at that. "You think Parkinson would shut up about it if they were?"

"Fair point," she replied.

"He's enjoying the attention," Blaise said. "It was only a matter of time, anyway. He was always going to be popular with girls, wasn't he?"

"Why?"

He gave her a look that said quite plainly that she was rather slow. "He's good-looking, and he's a Malfoy."

Ginny snorted. "And what about you?"

He smirked and crossed his left ankle over his knee. "I'm not having any problems either."

She rolled her eyes. "You two are ridiculous."

He opened his mouth to make another comment, but just then, Flint arrived, flanked by Montague, Warrington, Derrick, and Bole. Warrington was levitating the chest of balls before him. The five of them looked like a group of walking trees.

"I would wish you luck, Weasley," Blaise said, leaning over, "but that might hurt my chances."

She shrugged nonchalantly and flashed him a grin. "Don't worry, I don't need the luck."

He laughed.

"All right, _girls_, let's get started," Flint said loudly. He had a look in his eye that told Ginny this was _not_ going to be pleasant. "This is how it's going to work. We'll start with Beaters. Let's see how far you can hit the Bludgers."

He started them halfway down the pitch and had them try to hit a Bludger over the hoops. Derrick and Bole did it easily enough, but one of the boys from Ginny's year – with beady eyes and hairy arms – was five feet short.

"Well," Flint called with a cruel smile. "I think it's pretty clear _you're_ hopeless." Jeers from the stands followed him as he flew down and dismounted.

The next boy in her year was up, and before he even took aim, there were mocking shouts from the bleachers. He was small and scrawny, with lanky hair and large spectacles. He didn't look like Beater material. The boy ignored the yells from the stands and swung, and his Bludger soared over the hoops in an easy arc. Ginny grinned.

Derrick and Bole looked shocked, and Flint's face flushed. "All right," he said, obviously disappointed. "Move back ten feet."

Again, all three made it over the hoops. The thin boy wiped his glasses on his sleeve, looking thoroughly unconcerned as Flint ordered them to move back another ten feet.

By the time they got to the other end of the pitch, Derrick and Bole's breathing was labored, and their thick arms were straining against the fabric of their shirts with the effort of swinging the bats hard enough to get the Bludgers over. But the thin boy still looked largely indifferent. Flint looked about ready to explode with frustration.

It was Derrick's turn again, and Ginny doubted he could make it from this distance. He seemed to know it too. His wide face, with its thick brows and flat nose, was red with exertion and anger. He took aim, eyes narrowed, and pulled his bat back. Ginny's brow furrowed – the angle was all wrong. The Bludger hurtled through the air and collided with the bespectacled boy's elbow with a sickening crunch. There was a collective gasp from the stands, and the boy let out a pained cry. All color drained from his face as he gripped his upper arm.

Ginny was on her feet by the time he landed and stumbled off of his broom. "Are you okay?"

He swallowed. "Yeah…Hospital Wing…," he hissed out between gritted teeth, and he staggered off the field.

She whirled back around, only to find Derrick and Bole dismounting as well and receiving hearty pats on the back from Flint. "So I guess that's settled then," Flint said, grinning widely and baring all of his large teeth. "We can't have a Beater with a shattered elbow, now can we?"

Ginny felt violent indignation swelling in her chest, but she swallowed it down, knowing it would get her no where. She glanced back – they had an audience, and she could use that to her advantage.

She sank back into her seat, feigning nonchalance. "That _really_ wasn't as clever as you think, you know," she said lightly, giving Derrick a sardonic look.

He turned to her, eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?"

"Yeah, got something to say, _Weasley_?" Flint added. He spat her last name like it was an insult all on its own.

"Just that _he_," she nodded to Derrick, "must be thicker than he looks if he thinks we don't all know that he aimed at that kid on purpose."

The two boys exchanged glances, and Flint's eyes flicked back to the crowd in the stands. He couldn't just let that slide…not in front of half the House. After a moment, he snorted loudly and loped over so that he was towering over her. "And _why_ would he do that?" he asked.

She raised her eyebrows. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe because he couldn't compete with a ninety pound Second Year?"

"Why, you…," Derrick began, stepping forward menacingly, but Flint held up a hand and he stopped short.

"Listen here, Weasley," he said, flushed now, "If that _Second Year_ couldn't dodge one bloody Bludger, he didn't deserve to be on the team anyway." He paused for a moment, and his eyes glinted dangerously. "Speaking of which, it's important that our _Chasers_ be able to dodge Bludgers too, wouldn't you say?"

He looked back to Derrick and Bole, who laughed stupidly.

"I think it's time all of you got into the air," he continued, "and our new Beaters here will see if you have what it takes."

Ginny glared at him, straightening and gripping the bench hard. The stands were silent, and she knew everyone was straining to hear how she would respond. She pushed herself to her feet and met Flint's eyes again. "So you can have your…," she nodded to Derrick and Bole, "…_dogs_ aim Bludgers at Zabini and me and get Montague and Warrington on the team? Not. A. Chance. In. Hell."

There was tittering and shocked laughter from the stands, and Flint reddened with fury. "Then you don't have a chance in hell of getting on this team," he said. He looked around and laughed. "Maybe Potter can help you get on Gryffindor's team. I heard you two started a fainting club."

Ginny rolled her eyes. Honestly? That was the best he could do? "Based on this try-out, I think you may be doing me a favor," she said. "This team isn't exactly House Cup material…." She glanced up to the bleachers. "No offense, Malfoy."

He was leaning back casually, his elbows on the bench above him to prop him up. He was smirking. She could always count on him to be amused by her cheek. "None taken, Weasley," he said lightly.

She turned back to Flint. "…and Derrick just sent your best chance at a decent Beater up to the Hospital Wing."

"Well you just said you're not willing to do the try-out," he snapped. He seemed to realize that his voice had risen, and his face twitched as he tried to get himself back under control. Letting a second year Weasley get under his skin certainly wasn't doing anything for his reputation. He managed a tight laugh. "So I really don't know what you want."

Ginny didn't miss a beat. "A fair try-out. Two-on-two. Me and Zabini against Montague and Warrington. First team to three."

He stared at her for a moment, then, "Unfortunately, Weasley, Bletchley's our only Keeper. But if you want to go without –"

"I'll Keep for them." Flint's eyes snapped up to stare at Draco, who had stood and was now making his way down the bleachers to the pitch.

"Well that's…," Flint stammered. "…not allowed, Malfoy."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Oh, fuck off, Flint. Let them do the bloody try-out."

"Unless you think Montague and Warrington won't be able to cope," Ginny added.

Flint stood there, open-mouthed, his eyes flashing from Ginny to Draco to the spectators in the stands. She knew they had him. He couldn't refuse now…not with everyone watching and his reputation on the line. He clamped his mouth shut, his jaw working with anger.

Finally, he met Ginny's eyes. "Fine," he said harshly. "But let's make it fast. I have places to be."

Ginny glanced at Draco and grinned. She passed her broom easily from hand to hand, testing her grip, and then she took to the air. She heard Draco stride over to the equipment shed and pull out a school issue, and then he and Blaise followed her up into the sky. They re-grouped in front of their goal hoops.

"Well, Weasley, that was quite a show," Blaise said. She could tell by the comfortable, nonchalant way that he was sitting on his broom that he was a good player.

"I didn't fancy one of us being the next to take a Bludger to the elbow," she said.

"True," he mused. "Thanks for that." He glanced over to Montague, Warrington, and Bletchley at the opposite posts. "Well, I certainly hope you're as good as you claim."

"She is," Draco confirmed.

"Well, that may be, mate," Blaise said, turning back. "But you can't Keep for shite."

Draco smirked. "Well then I guess you two better keep the Quaffle on their side."

* * *

><p>The wind whipped past her as she sped through the air, the Quaffle held firmly between her palms. They were up two-one. Adrenaline was pounding through her veins, and somewhere along the way, her ponytail had come undone, leaving her hair streaming behind her as she flew.<p>

She could feel Montague behind her, trying to intimidate her by looming close at her tail. She glanced to her left. Ten feet away, Blaise was doing his best to give her an opening to pass. Warrington wasn't half-bad though; he kept himself firmly between them, his broad shoulders nearly blocking Blaise from Ginny's view.

CRACK! Montague banged the front of his broom against her tail, and the jolt nearly unseated her. She forced herself not to glare back at him – he _wanted_ her distracted. The goal posts were rearing up before her, and Bletchley was weaving before them. She had to pass; Bletchley was a good Keeper. He would block a straight-on shot easily.

CRACK! Montague struck her tail again, and this time, she had to grit her teeth as her Cleansweep reverberated beneath her from the force of the collision. _Fuck it_, she thought. Two could play that game.

Without warning, she jerked her broom left and rammed as hard as she could into Warrington's right side. CRACK! He wasn't prepared, and his bulk worked to her advantage. He teetered on his broom, and in the second it took him to regain his balance, she tossed the Quaffle over his head to Blaise, who zipped past him, covering the last few feet to the goal. Bletchley narrowed his eyes, hands outstretched to block, and at _just the last second_, Ginny zipped forward, pulled her broom right in a fast loop before the posts, caught Blaise's easy pass, and thrust the ball over Bletchley's left shoulder and through the hoop.

Much to Ginny's surprise, a cheer went up in the stands. The excited shouts quickly turned into jeers as Montague, Warrington, and Bletchley landed and dismounted. Flint looked absolutely livid, and Ginny caught his eye and cocked an eyebrow cheekily.

"Weasley and Zabini, be at practice tomorrow morning at nine. Don't be late," he ground out, glaring daggers. And then he stalked off the field, the rest of his group trailing behind him.

Ginny sank to the ground, smiling widely. Blaise was laughing happily, and he draped an arm around her shoulders. "Well played, Weasley," he said.

"You're not too bad yourself. And _you_," she said, turning as Draco came up to them. "Did you see Warrington's face get all scrunched up when you blocked his first shot?"

Draco smirked. "I didn't notice a difference, really," he quipped.

"You're right," Ginny said, grinning back, "He _always_ looks vaguely baffled, doesn't he?"

"Draco, that was brilliant!" Pansy Parkinson's cooing voice cut in on their conversation, and the girl herself looped her arm around Draco's elbow. She beamed up at him.

"And you were just _amazing_ up there, Blaise," Daphne put in, batting her eyelashes and tossing her silky blonde hair over her shoulder.

"Well," Ginny said, raising her eyebrows and shrugging out from under Blaise's arm. "I suppose I'll leave you two to it, then." She nudged against Draco's side as she started back toward the castle. "Try to be home by eleven, won't you?" she said, smiling cheekily. "You know how I worry."

Draco laughed and glanced down at Pansy suggestively. "I think I'm in good hands."

"Clearly," she said, grinning and shaking her head as she walked away.

She hefted her broom over her shoulder as she entered the castle. She couldn't stop smiling; her cheeks were flushed from the wind, and she was still tingling with adrenaline. She was on the team! True, Flint would probably make things as miserable as possible for her, but the flying and the competition would make up for it.

"Ginny!"

"Ginny!"

Two voices called her name, and she turned to see the Carrow twins walking toward her. She frowned. Even though they were roommates, the twins hadn't spoken more than five words to her in all her time at school.

"Hestia, Flora," she said rather coolly, nodding to them as they came up beside her. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Well," said Flora, who she recognized by her slightly shorter haircut, "we would like to invite you..."

"…to have dinner with us this evening," finished Hestia.

Ginny's eyebrows went up. "Any particular reason?" she asked slowly.

"We were at the try-outs just now," Hestia began.

"And we think that we may have judged you prematurely, because you're a Weasley."

Ginny felt a smile twitch at the corner of her lips. The way they finished each other's sentences reminded her of Fred and George. "I'm not sure whether I should be flattered or insulted," she said.

"You should be flattered," Flora said, smiling.

"You impressed us," Hestia added. "And we're not easily impressed."

"Thanks, I suppose," Ginny replied.

"So, dinner this evening?"

Ginny shrugged. "All right. I don't see why not."

"Lovely," Flora said. "We'll see you then."

And with that, the twins turned and walked away down the hall.

That night, when Ginny returned to her dormitory after dinner with Flora and Hestia, Bridget gave her a bar of Swiss chocolate that her parents had sent her from their holiday, and Rachel offered her the shower first.

Draco laughed aloud when she told him. The two of them had commandeered the sofa in front of the fire, and Ginny was leaning with her back against his side, flipping unenthusiastically through her Transfiguration textbook. "If there's anything Slytherins respect," he said, "it's the ability to humiliate someone. And you just made Flint look like an incompetent moron."

"Wasn't too difficult," she said wryly.

He chuckled and crossed his ankles on the coffee table, his eyes skimming over the Potions essay he had just finished. "It seems you've earned your keep, Weasley. Congratulations."

* * *

><p>Ginny scribbled down the assignment instructions before shoving her notebook and quill into her bag. "Class dismissed," Professor Lupin said. As they all left the room, she saw him sink wearily into his chair.<p>

"Lupin looked a bit ill today," Hestia commented as they spilled out into the hallway and walked toward the Charms classroom.

Flora shrugged. "At least he didn't give us much homework."

"Ginny…your brother," Hestia said, nodding down the corridor. Ron was standing with Harry and Hermione, but seemed to have noticed her and was now marching down the hall, a scowl on his face.

"Hey, Ron," she said, raising her eyebrows at him.

"We heard you're on the Slytherin team now," he said without preamble, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Who's we?" she asked. She turned to Flora and Hestia. "You two go on. I'll be there in a minute."

He gave her a hard look as they moved off. "Our _family_," he said.

She rolled her eyes at his tone.

"Fred and George aren't too thrilled about playing against you," he continued.

"Not keen on losing?" she teased, smiling lightly.

Ron frowned. "More like afraid to hit Bludgers at their own sister."

He smile faded. "I can handle myself, thanks very much," she said.

"You've put them in a really awkward position," he replied. "But speaking of family," he added, meeting her eyes with a glare, "when was the last time you wrote home?"

Ginny's eyes narrowed. She didn't like his accusatory tone. "I sent Mum and Dad a letter two weeks ago," she said, voice hard.

Ron made a scoffing sound. "Three bloody sentences," he said. "You might as well have sent a blank sheet of parchment."

"Maybe I'll do that next time," she snapped. "If that's all you've got to say Ron, I better be going. I have a –"

"Ginny! Ginny Weasley!" She turned to see a pretty blonde girl running down the corridor toward them. Ginny vaguely recognized her. She was Daphne's little sister…a First Year named Ashley or Aster or Astor-something.

"I had a detention with Madame Pomfrey just now," the girl said breathlessly. "And Draco Malfoy was brought in. He asked for you."

Ginny's stomach dropped. Wild images of Draco, bloody and mangled, flashed through her mind. "What happened?" she murmured.

"He was attacked by some sort of terrible animal in that horrid half-giant's class," the girl replied, eyes wide.

Ron barked out a laugh. "The git deserved it," he said meanly.

Ginny turned to glare at him. "You're an arse, Ron," she said harshly, and then she took off down the corridor.

* * *

><p>Draco winced as Madame Pomfrey wound a clean, white bandage around his arm. "There's ointment on this. It might sting," she said. A little late with the warning, he thought crossly.<p>

"You poor thing," Pansy said, running her hand up and down his other arm.

Madame Pomfrey patted down the dressing and tied it into place. "Your parents will be here soon," she said.

He sat up a little straighter, wincing again as his cut rubbed against the bandage. "You Owled my parents?"

"Yes," she said. "You were injured in a class, so we had to inform them. Try not to move your arm. I'll come back when they arrive." She moved away, and moments later, he heard the door to her office click shut.

The doors to the wing burst open, and Ginny strode in, looking anxious. She spotted him immediately. Her eyes flicked from Draco, sitting upright, to Pansy, hanging onto his arm, and she visibly relaxed. She had obviously been expecting something much, much worse. She started laughing, running a hand through her hair in obvious relief as she walked to his bedside.

"What's she doing here?" Pansy hissed in an undertone.

"I need to speak to her about Quidditch. I'll see you later," he replied dismissively. Pansy huffed, but she stood and left.

Ginny sank into a chair, still laughing. He rolled his eyes. "It's really not that funny," he said dryly.

She sobered a bit, but a small smile still tugged at the corner of her lips. "I'm sorry," she said, her eyes skimming over his bandages, "but I was envisioning blood and guts everywhere."

"No guts," he said. "Just blood."

"So," she said, meeting his eyes seriously. "What happened?"

He shrugged. He had gotten some amusement out of playing up the injury for Pansy, but he knew Ginny would be able to see through all that in an instant. "We were working with Hippogriffs in Care of Magical Creatures. I got a talon in the arm. That's it."

She raised her eyebrows. "Were you taunting it?" she asked.

He scowled, and she put her hands up. "Hey, I just called my brother an arse in the middle of a crowded hallway. I won't judge."

He sighed. "I may have been taunting it a little."

She nodded. "Good thing it didn't take your arm off," she commented lightly.

"As it is, you're going to have to take my place as Seeker against Gryffindor."

She nodded again. "Flint won't like it."

"He'll do it, though. We all know Higgs is hopeless."

She laughed. "Fair point. Here, drink," she said, proffering the glass from the table at his bedside. "You look like you need it."

He took it, sipped, and sighed contentedly. He hadn't even realized he was thirsty. "So," he said finally, "tell me more about how you called your brother an arse."

She opened her mouth to respond, a cheeky smirk on her face, but just then, the hospital doors slammed open and his parents entered. He saw Ginny stiffen beside him. She had never actually been introduced to his parents, but he knew she must hate his father for Riddle's diary.

"Draco, darling," his mother said, sweeping to his bedside. "Are you all right?" She glanced down at Ginny, who met her eyes with a cool look. Narcissa's lips pursed, but she didn't comment. Instead, she moved around the bed and sank into the seat Pansy had vacated earlier.

"I'm fine," Draco said. "You didn't have to come."

"Of course we did," his father said crossly. "You can't seem to keep yourself out of trouble."

"So you came all the way here to give me a lecture?" Draco asked testily.

"No, Draco," his father replied, voice hard. "We came to make sure Dumbledore takes the necessary disciplinary measures."

Draco's brow furrowed. His mother put her hand over his on the blankets. "Don't worry, darling. We'll do our best to have that half-breed fool sacked."

"And at the very least, the beast will be put down."

He heard Ginny's sharp intake of breath. "Isn't that rather extreme?" she said sharply.

His parents looked up, surprise evident on their faces. His father flushed. "No, it is not," he said harshly, his jaw working in annoyance.

Ginny didn't flinch. "It's not even a serious injury," she said. "It's hardly worth the…."

"Well," his father cut in, "I wouldn't expect a Weasley to know anything about _worth_." Draco cringed. "And you would do well to stay out of things that do not concern you."

"In any case, you're no longer needed here, Miss Weasley," his mother added primly.

Ginny fell silent, but her gaze shifted to Draco expectantly. He knew she wanted his support, but he also knew that her presence wasn't helping anyone. And, anyway, the Hippogriff _had_ attacked him. It deserved some sort of punishment, and even if execution seemed a bit much, he knew his father well enough to know that he wouldn't compromise on it. He met Ginny's eyes and shook his head ever-so-slightly. Her jaw clamped shut tight.

"Did you hear me?" Narcissa said, fixing her with a condescending stare.

Ginny didn't even look at her. She held his gaze for one more long moment, expression hard, and then she pushed back her chair with a harsh scraping sound and left the Hospital Wing.

"Well, now that _she's_ gone…." His mother chattered on, and after a few minutes, Madame Pomfrey emerged from her office to give his parents an assessment of his injury. But Draco tuned them all out and leaned back on his pillows, wrestling with the uncomfortable feeling that he had just failed some sort of test.

* * *

><p>He was released from the Hospital Wing shortly after dinner a few days later, and he returned to the Common Room. He sank down next to Pansy, who immediately started cooing sympathetically over his still-bandaged arm. Draco scanned the room for Ginny, but she didn't seem to be around. He hadn't seen her since that first day in the Hospital.<p>

Fifteen minutes later, he heard her voice filter in from the entrance corridor. She appeared, flanked by the Carrow twins. She ignored him completely as she crossed the Common Room.

Of course Pansy took that moment to say loudly, "Thank Merlin your parents are having that horrible beast killed. There was so much blood…it's lucky they didn't have to amputate it."

Ginny paused on the way to the girls' staircase, and even though her back was to him, Draco could _feel_ her roll her eyes with contempt. She turned and glared at Pansy. "Merlin, Parkinson, stop making a fool of yourself. We all know it was just a glorified scratch."

Even Draco was taken aback by the harshness in her voice, and he felt a stab of anger in his stomach. What right did she have to be so callous about it? "Why don't you get off her back, Ginny?" he said sharply.

Her eyes flicked to him. The whole Common Room was watching now, not even bothering to hide their curiosity. "And _you_ should be ashamed of yourself," she said. "That hippogriff is going to be _killed_."

He sat forward on the sofa, glaring. "I didn't ask for that. My parents –"

"And you said nothing. You're going to let it die, when you know full well it was your fault," she snapped derisively. "You _coward_."

There was an audible intake of breath, and Draco sprang up. He grabbed her bodily by the arm and pulled her to one corner of the room. "Shut _up_, Ginny," he hissed in an undertone. "How dare you call me a coward after everything that happened last year. I –"

"Oh, that's right," she said, laughing mirthlessly. "You can stand up to a bloody basilisk, but not to your _parents_ when they're having innocent creatures executed and treating me like a trumped-up House-elf."

"It's not my job to stand up for you," he said harshly.

She glared at him, her usually warm brown eyes cold with contempt. "Like I said – _coward_." She pulled out of his grasp and marched up the staircase without a backward glance, the Carrow twins at her heels.

Draco stared after her for a moment, then turned back to the sofa, heart beating hard with anger.

"Thank Merlin she's been spending so much time with those twins," Pansy observed lightly. "Maybe now she'll stop hanging around us all the time."

Draco turned on her. "Oh _shut up_, Pansy," he snapped harshly, and her eyes widened in shock. He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "Damnit," he swore, more to himself than anything. And resisting the sudden urge to throw something, he stormed up his own staircase and into his dormitory, slamming the door loudly behind him.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Quick note - I've messed with canon a bit more than usual here. In canon, Draco gets scratched by Buckbeak during the first day of classes, but I wanted some things to happen beforehand, so I moved that event back a few weeks. I hope that doesn't bother anyone too, too much.

Anyway, I'm really sorry for the longer-than-usual wait! For some reason, I had a _really_ hard time getting this chapter out. However, because I'm addicted to writing this, I spent a lot of the time working on the story outline…so I guess it wasn't time totally wasted! And it looks like Ginny's third year will be about three chapters. Trust me – I am just as impatient as you to get to the romance-type stuff…don't worry, it's on the way!

On that note, please review!


	9. The Breakin and the Match

**Chapter 9: The Break-in and the Match**

It was a rare warm day in mid-October. The sun was shining brightly, and the autumn breeze felt refreshingly cool rather than bitingly cold. Many of the students were outside, sprawled across the grass and around the lake, soaking in what might be the last sunny day of the fall. Ginny lay flat on her back with her Charms textbook held above her. Hestia and Flora sat cross-legged nearby, and Bridget and Rachel had joined them a few minutes before and were now giggling over a set of tarot cards.

"Did you read Mum and Dad's letter?" Flora asked, nudging her sister on the arm.

Hestia twisted a lock of inky black hair around her finger. "I haven't had time," she replied. "What did it say?"

"We're going to Amycus and Alecto's for Christmas dinner again," Flora said.

Her sister clicked her tongue with displeasure. "And there's no way out of it?"

"Not unless we give ourselves food poisoning. How do raw chicken breasts sound?"

Hestia smiled wryly. "Not very appealing, but ask me again in two months."

"Who are these people, and whatever did they do to inspire such love and enthusiasm?" Ginny asked lightly, her eyes still skimming over her text.

"They're our aunt and uncle," Hestia explained. "Every few years, our parents insist we spend Christmas at their horrible, dank manor house."

Ginny set her book down across her chest and turned her head to look at them. "They're brother and sister, and they live together in a manor?"

Flora leaned back on her hands. "Well, Uncle Amycus and Aunt Alecto don't play well with others," she said with a sly smile. Hestia chuckled.

Ginny raised her eyebrows.

"They were quite high up with the Dark Lord." Ginny's eyebrows went up even further, but Hestia didn't seem to notice and continued unperturbed. "You have to respect them for _that_ at least. Mum says the two of them were absolutely useless before they joined the Death Eaters."

"But they just _can't_ shut up about it," Flora said. "They go on and on and on about how wonderful it was to serve under the Dark Lord."

Hestia groaned. "Honestly, it's maddening."

Ginny opened her mouth to ask a question – now that the twins mentioned it, she could remember her mum and dad talking about "the cruel Carrow siblings" from the First War. But just then, a lanky shadow fell over her. She looked up to see Blaise standing there, sporting his usual look of detached amusement. A few feet away, Rachel and Bridget's tittering came to an abrupt halt, and they turned to stare.

"Can I help you?" she asked, arching an eyebrow at him and not bothering to sit up.

Blaise smirked. "I see that a few weeks away from me and Draco has done nothing to improve your manners," he observed.

"What can I say?" Ginny answered. "You two were always such a good influence. Without you I've gotten rather rough around the edges."

"I can see that," he said, chuckling.

"So?" she asked. "What do you want?"

"Just a word," he replied easily. "Walk with me, Weasley."

Ginny considered for a moment before pushing herself up and brushing the grass from the back of her robes. She had no reason to be angry with Blaise, after all. They hadn't spoken (beyond the occasional necessary shout during Quidditch practice) since she and Draco had fought a few weeks back. He'd obviously taken Draco's part in the whole affair, but she could hardly blame him for that – he was Draco's best friend.

She felt Rachel and Bridget's eyes boring into the back of her head as they walked over to the edge of the lake. She could make out Harry, Ron, and Hermione chatting away on the other side of the water. The two boys seemed to be joking about pushing each other in, and Hermione was sitting back with a heavy-looking tome in her lap, trying to hide a smile.

"You and Malfoy should make up," Blaise said suddenly from beside her.

Her gaze whipped back over to him. "And why should we do that?" she replied.

"He's all pissed off about it, and he's horrible to be around," he said flatly. His eyes flicked to the right, and Ginny followed his gaze to where the usual cohort of Slytherin Third Years was sitting in a wide semicircle. Pansy lying on her stomach at the center, and Draco was leaning back on his elbows beside her, staring at them. Their eyes locked. He looked away immediately. "I don't know how much longer I can stand his foul mood," Blaise added.

"Purely selfish motives then?" Ginny asked, turning her attention back to him.

He smirked. "Would you expect anything less?"

"Of course not," she replied. "But it's really not that simple."

"Yes, Weasley, it is," Blaise said. "You're fighting…make up. Nothing could be simpler." They rounded a large tree and doubled back.

"He's letting them execute that hippogriff when he knows full well he's largely to blame for what happened. It's not right," she said resolutely.

Quite unexpectedly, he laughed. "And here I thought we'd managed to shake all of those silly _principles_ out of you."

Ginny grinned despite herself. "Not quite," she replied.

They had come back to her group now. They paused a few feet away, and Blaise nodded a goodbye. "Think about it, Weasley. Given how stubborn _he_ is, this could last for years."

She nodded back, and he strode off to his group. She sank back onto the grass, picking up her Charms textbook again. But Bridget and Rachel were on her in a moment. Ginny thought with annoyance that they could probably _smell_ gossip.

"You two looked so _serious_," Rachel said, biting excitedly at her thumbnail.

"Was he asking you for advice about Daphne Greengrass?" Bridget put in.

Ginny sighed, flipping her page and refusing to look up. But Rachel seemed unperturbed by her lack of interest. "My mum thinks Mr. and Mrs. Greengrass probably _told_ Daphne to hang all over him. Mr. Greengrass has lost nearly all their money," she said, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "and whoever bags Blaise Zabini will be _rich_."

Ginny rolled her eyes. Daphne had been nauseatingly gooey-eyed around Blaise for weeks now, but Ginny would bet the robes off her back that it had nothing to do with Mr. and Mrs. Greengrass or their family finances. Daphne definitely wasn't that good an actress.

Bridget seemed to have doubts as well. "If all she's interested in is money," she said skeptically, "why isn't she going after Draco Malfoy? Merlin knows he's got more of it than any other boy here."

"Well," Rachel said with a giggle, "I never said Daphne Greengrass was the sharpest quill in the shop, now did I?"

At that, Bridget let out a scandalized cackle.

"But I know what you mean about Malfoy," Rachel continued, grinning now. "Did you _know_…I heard his mother's engagement ring was a _ten_ carat diamond…."

Ginny tuned them out and stared down at her textbook, but her thoughts were elsewhere. She felt a perverse sort of satisfaction at the knowledge that Draco was just as aggravated by their fight as she was. He just _got _her, somehow, and as much as it made her want to wretch to admit it, she missed having him around. But she just couldn't bring herself to forgive him.

His parents had treated her like some sort of disrespectful servant, and that had irritated her, but had she really been expecting anything else? What had _really_ rankled was watching Draco sit back with his eyes downcast and his lips clamped shut tight while it happened.

And _then_ she had watched him keep that same expression as his parents declared that the hippogriff would be executed and Hagrid possibly sacked.

She had been angry, but it was more than that. She had felt more disappointment than she could ever have expected.

But regardless of her own feelings, Blaise was right – Draco was stubborn. He wasn't about to apologize and beg her for anything, and she knew that calling him a coward in front of the whole Common Room had cut deep.

She exhaled and ran her fingers through her hair. She felt a sudden urge to glance over in Draco's direction, but forced herself to keep her eyes on her text.

* * *

><p>Ginny twisted the end of her ponytail in her hand, letting a trail of water drip down to the floor as she descended the stairs into the dungeons.<p>

"Bloody Herbology," Hestia muttered beside her. They'd had the last class of the day out in the greenhouses, and had all been soaked on the way back to the castle.

"Do you think it'll be raining for Hogsmeade this weekend?" Flora asked. "Everyone will be so annoyed."

"I hate that we can't go," her sister continued. "I've asked Dominic – you know, the Fourth Year – to get us a few things from the shops. I'm sure he wouldn't mind adding a few things to the list if you want anything, Ginny."

She shook her head. "I'm all right, I think. I'll just steal chocolate frogs off of you two until the next Hogsmeade weekend."

The twins laughed as Ginny murmured the password and they all stepped through the cellar wall.

"– wish I'd been there to see _that_." She heard Derrick's loud, deep voice, and entered the Common Room to see him leaning against a sofa, arms crossed over his chest and a large grin on his face.

Draco turned to glare at Crabbe. "Thanks for spreading it around, you bloody git," he hissed under his breath.

Flint jumped in next. "The _great _Draco Malfoy is most afraid of –"

"Speak of the devil," Warrington cut in. To Ginny's surprise, everyone turned to stare at her.

Derrick's grin widened. "Weasley, maybe you'd care to comment on the –"

"Oh, sod off, Derrick," Draco said loudly. "And just so you know, Lupin let slip that Sixth and Seventh Years are doing Boggarts next week. So I would shut up now if I were you."

Derrick, Flint, and Warrington all blanched at that, and they fell silent. "That's what I thought," Draco said. He turned to Blaise. "I'm going to the library," he said, his tone betraying hard anger. As he shouldered his bag, their eyes met for a split second. She raised her eyebrows, but he brushed past her without a word. The Common Room was dead silent as he strode out, and after a few moments, Ginny whirled and followed him.

She caught up with him a few feet outside the cellar wall.

"Draco!" she said. He turned sharply, eyes flashing. He had obviously been expecting someone else, but his expression didn't soften when he realized it was her.

"Oh, speaking to me now, are you?" he snapped.

Ginny's felt her own temper flare. She knew about Boggarts from her mum, and whatever Draco had seen had come from his own mind. It certainly wasn't her fault! "What was it, a hippogriff?" she spat back.

His eyes hardened, darkening to mercury, and he didn't answer for a moment. "Something like that," he said finally, voice flat.

She nodded, and there was an awkward silence. "Well," she said, swallowing. "I don't know why I came out here."

"I don't know either," he replied coldly.

She nodded again, hating the chill between them. "Right," she said. And then she turned, delivered the password, and re-entered the Common Room.

* * *

><p>"That'll be four Galleons, sixteen Sickles, Sir."<p>

Draco pushed the coins across the table, and tucked the quill box into the inside of his coat as they all exited Scrivenshaft's.

"We should probably get back," Blaise said. "It's getting late."

"Did you get the toffees your sister asked for, Daph?" Pansy asked, looping her arm through Draco's as they walked. He felt a stab of annoyance. He had been in a foul mood for weeks, and Pansy's flirting, which he had thoroughly enjoyed a month ago, had been getting on his nerves. She was acting as if they were dating, hanging all over him and whispering in his ear…. Merlin, he hadn't even snogged her yet!

Daphne nodded, patting her Honeydukes shopping bag.

"I wish I'd had an older sibling when _I_ was a First Year," Pansy said. "It would have been nice to have someone delivering Honeydukes to _me_."

Daphne nudged Pansy's shoulder. "You could've asked _Adrian_," she said, giggling.

Pansy grinned. "I guess I could have," she said slyly, "but I didn't want to _owe_ him anything later, you know?"

Daphne dissolved into laughter, and Draco rolled his eyes. "Honestly, Parkinson?" he said unkindly. "You were eleven. If Pucey was being nice to you, he definitely wasn't doing it because he wanted to get in your pants."

Pansy fell silent, and her lips pressed together in a tight line. He knew that his comment had stung, and he also knew that if he had been anyone else, she would have bitten his head off for it. He immediately felt bad.

"I'm sorry," he said stiffly. "I'm tired."

Pansy brightened visibly, and she and Daphne fell back into conversation as the castle loomed up before them. Draco was largely silent as they made their way down to the dungeons. Someone had charmed the wall torches to burn orange rather than green…Halloween spirit, he supposed.

They stepped through the wall into the Common Room, and stopped short. The black-robed figure of Professor Snape was darkening the corridor. His back was to them, but he whirled and shot them his usual disapproving glare as they entered.

"I see you took your time walking back," he said sternly. "I think you four are the last to return."

"Is something wrong, Professor?" Draco asked.

Snape frowned. "I'm getting to that."

Draco moved past him to lean against the back of a nearby armchair. His eyes flicked over the Common Room – all of Slytherin was assembled for whatever announcement Snape was about to make.

The professor cleared his throat. "Sirius Black has broken into the castle," he said flatly. There was a collective gasp and whispers started up around the room. Snape narrowed his eyes at them and continued. "He tried to enter Gryffindor Tower, and we believe he may still be on the grounds. The other professors and I have decided that all students will be sleeping in the Great Hall tonight for their safety." The whispers increased in volume, forcing Snape to raise his voice. "You all have ten minutes to gather your belongings and change into your bedclothes, and then I will escort you up to the Great Hall. Mats, pillows, and blankets will be provided for you there."

All of the students started speaking loudly and moving toward their staircases. Suddenly, a Seventh Year boy's voice rose over the fray. "Professor, why are we even bothering? We all know Black's only after Potter!"

Professor Snape glared. "_Because_, Rolf, I am _telling_ you to bother," he said, voice dangerously low. "Ten minutes."

Draco's eyes scanned the room as everyone began heading up to the dormitories, and he didn't realize until he found her that he was searching for Ginny. She was pale as a sheet and standing frozen between the chattering Carrow twins. Their eyes met; he could read the fear in them, and he knew exactly what she was thinking, because he was thinking the same thing. The Dark wizards who wanted to kill Harry Potter didn't care who they hurt in the process, and sometimes, other people _did_ get caught in the middle. The two of them knew that better than almost anyone.

"Malfoy, let's go," Blaise said beside him. One of the twins touched Ginny on the arm, and she seemed to jolt back to reality. She turned away.

Draco followed Blaise up the boys' staircase.

"D'ya think any of the professors have even got what it takes to deal with Black?" Crabbe said aloud to the room. He was grinning as if this whole thing was a welcome diversion, and with Ginny's expression seared across his vision, Draco felt the sudden urge to punch him in the face.

"I'd like to see Flitwick have a go. I bet he'd look funny exploding into a million bits," Goyle put in, chortling like an idiot.

"Well, if he explodes Potty at least all this fuss will have been worth it," Crabbe said.

Blaise smirked at that, but Draco clamped his lips into a hard line. He brushed his teeth and put on his pajamas in silence.

When they descended back into the Common Room, Ginny was already there, wearing loose checkered bottoms and a ridiculously oversized t-shirt. She didn't even glance at him as Snape counted them up and then swept down the passageway and out into the dungeons. They all followed him through the winding halls and up to the Great Hall, where the other Houses had already assembled.

A few professors stood at the entrance, but Draco thought that most of them were probably searching the castle. The students were milling about the room, speaking in hushed voices as they found mats and started settling down for bed. Without really thinking about it or considering whether or not it was a good idea, Draco walked over to where Ginny was shaking out her blanket and sank down on the mat right beside hers.

He took off his shoes and unfolded his own blanket without looking at her, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw her staring at him. She started to clear her throat, but then seemed to think better of it, and after a moment she looked away and lay down to sleep. From her other side, the twins considered him for a few seconds longer, and the other two – Draco couldn't for the life of him remember their names – started whispering furiously.

"Interesting choice of sleeping arrangement," Blaise commented quietly as he settled in on Draco's left, but he didn't seem to be expecting an answer, because he lay down with his back turned away. Pansy looked absolutely furious, and Draco silently thanked Blaise for taking the mat right beside him and forcing Pansy and Daphne to sleep further away.

Ginny's eyes were already shut tight, and Draco lay down flat on his back, staring up at the enchanted ceiling. The hall slowly quieted, and after a while, the only sounds were rustling blankets and soft snores.

Draco didn't know how many hours later it was when he turned his head and, by the orange glow filtering in from the slightly open doors, saw that Ginny's eyes were wide open. She was looking up and worrying her lower lip, and she looked as pale as ever. She was scared, and he couldn't blame her.

He swallowed. "Black's not after you," he whispered.

She didn't turn her head to face him, but he knew she had heard.

After a moment, she answered, her voice threaded with fear. "Neither was Tom."

He didn't know what to say to that. It was true. They fell back into silence.

Finally, after a few minutes, Draco slid his right arm out from under his blanket. He brushed his fingertips against her side, to let her know, and then he just let his arm lie there, palm up, outstretched between them.

She didn't move at first, but after several moments, he felt her warm palm slide into his. They didn't speak again, but he squeezed her hand. And she squeezed back.

* * *

><p>Ginny smoothed down her Quidditch uniform, rocking up onto the balls of her feet to stretch her legs. It was her first official game, and her heart was hammering hard in her chest. She exited the locker room with the team, gripping her Cleansweep hard in her right hand, and the Slytherin section cheered as they strode out onto the pitch. For some reason, the pitch looked much bigger than it did during practices…maybe it had something to do with the crowds filling the stands and the crackling sound of Lee Jordan's commentary reverberating against her ears.<p>

Flint stepped up beside her. "There's Malfoy," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Keeping an eye on you, I expect."

"I honestly have no idea what you're on about, Flint," she said harshly, moving away without giving him a chance to respond.

The Gryffindor team had emerged from their locker room, and there were resounding cheers from the stands. "Flint's getting on my last nerve," she said, leaning in so Blaise could hear her over the din.

He raised his eyebrows at her. "What did he say this time?"

"Something about Malfoy keeping an eye on me," she said, rolling her eyes. Flint and Oliver Wood were approaching Madame Hooch, and she seemed to be giving them some sort of lecture.

Blaise snorted. "He's never going to live that Boggart incident down," he said.

She shot him a quizzical look. "What does his Boggart being a hippogriff have to do with anything?"

He frowned. "You haven't been hearing the rumors?"

She shook her head, and his eyebrows went up even higher.

"His Boggart wasn't a hippogriff," he explained, voice low. "It was a girl lying on the ground. She looked dead."

She still didn't understand. "So they're all making fun of him because he saw some girl?"

Blaise shook his head. "It wasn't just some girl, Weasley," he said, meeting her eyes. "It was you."

Ginny didn't know what to say. She just stood there in silence, her mouth slightly open and her cheeks flushed. She understood, suddenly, why everyone had been giving Draco grief about that Boggart for weeks. They didn't understand. They had seen her prone form appear on the ground in front of him, and they had all just assumed he was afraid she might die. They didn't know that it had been all too real that night in the Chamber.

She looked up to where Draco was standing, high up in the bleachers. A week ago, when Sirius Black had broken into the school, they had woken holding hands. But then they had gotten up and carried on as if nothing had happened. Now, Draco looked up, and their eyes met. His brow furrowed questioningly. But just then, Madame Hooch blew her whistle, and Ginny's thoughts whipped back to the task at hand. Quidditch, Quidditch, Quidditch. Not Draco, not the Chamber. Quidditch.

Gritting her teeth in concentration, she pushed off the ground and forced herself to scan the air for the Snitch. She rose up higher and higher until she could observe the entire pitch from above. Harry seemed to have had the same idea; he was hovering ten feet away, green eyes narrowed for any sign of a gold glint.

Below, the match was already getting ugly. Montague had replaced Ginny as Chaser, and he was fouling left and right.

"Montague's bloody cheating!" Harry shouted over to her, face red with anger. "He nearly knocked Katie off her broom!"

Ginny scowled at him. "Well, why doesn't she bloody knock back?" she yelled.

She returned to scanning the pitch, trying hard to ignore the rest of the game. She could tell by the angry yells filtering up from the stands that Montague was still at it. Lee Jordan's commentary was becoming increasingly incensed.

"_AND DERRICK SEEMS TO HAVE MISTAKEN KATIE BELL'S HEAD FOR A BLUDGER! PROFESSOR, DON'T TELL ME YOU'RE LETTING HIM GET AWAY WITH THAT – HE NEARLY LOPPED HER HEAD OFF!"_

She spotted it – a flash of gold just above the Slytherin goal posts. In a moment, she was racing toward it, and Harry was on her tail. She lowered her body over her broom and kept her eyes trained on the gold glint in the distance, trying to ignore the fact that Harry was inching closer and closer and that if she didn't get to the Snitch in the next few seconds, he might overtake her.

And then she felt it. A sudden chill that swept through her body and froze her blood, and she looked up to see a Dementor bearing down on her, it's shredded cloak billowing around it. She tried desperately to pull her broom back, away from it, as the heavy blackness began to seep in, but it filled her vision, the dark hole where its face should be looming closer and closer. She could hear frightened screams from the stands….

_Ah, Harry Potter._

Tom's voice. Ginny struggled against the heavy blackness. It's not real, it's not real, it's not real. She repeated it like a mantra, clinging to it, but the darkness was blinding her.

_But who is the spare? No matter. I shall dispense with him first._

And now she was falling through the open air, and the screams from the stands intensified. She knew she should be panicking, reaching out to grab something to save herself from hitting the ground and breaking like a ragdoll, but she just couldn't muster the energy.

Then she knew no more.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Thank you all again for the reviews! You guys are the best! I'll try to update more frequently, but bear with me - my life's been a bit hectic lately. Please leave a review!


	10. Caring

**Author's Note: **The alerts weren't working for a while, but hopefully they're fixed now. Sorry if you got multiple alerts!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 10: Caring<strong>

"Move! Get out of the bloody way!" Draco shouted, elbowing his way through the throngs of students climbing down from the stands. By the time he made it down to the pitch, he was breathing hard with a mixture of frustration and panic and fear, and he took off at a run toward the castle. He could hardly hear Pansy, Daphne, Crabbe, and Goyle yelling for him to slow down over the pounding of his own heartbeat in his ears.

His footsteps echoed loudly as he rushed through the halls, skidding to a stop in front of the Hospital Wing. The two Quidditch teams were already there, gathered around two beds at the far end of the room. Draco crossed the space and pushed his way through.

"Malfoy," Blaise said, nodding to him and speaking in a quick undertone. "Madame Pomfrey says she's going to be fine."

Draco knew he should feel relieved, but his body remained tense, fists clenched at his sides. He stared down at Ginny's prone form. She was unconscious, and she looked white as a sheet. The image of her body falling from the sky flashed across his vision. "Who the _fuck_ let those bloody Dementors onto the pitch?" he hissed.

"No one knows," Blaise replied. "They were supposed to keep off the grounds. Pomfrey, Dumbledore, and McGonagall all went to look into it."

"It's like seeing your worst fear, isn't it, Malfoy?" He looked up to see Flint grinning cruelly at him. Derrick, Bole, and Montague chuckled.

He flushed, feeling hot anger rise dangerously in his chest. "You bloody piece of –"

"Malfoy." He turned. The Carrow twins were standing a few feet away, and one of them – he couldn't tell them apart – was glaring at him. "If you're here to start fights, then you'd best leave. Ginny doesn't need any more trouble from you."

His eyes flashed. Who did this girl think she was? He had opened his mouth to retort, when he realized that perhaps he didn't have the right. He and Ginny had barely spoken in weeks, and they hadn't discussed what had happened the night of Black's break-in, let alone told anyone else. Their friendship had taken a serious blow, and he felt a wholly unfamiliar stab of uncertainty as all of his righteous anger flew out of him: maybe he shouldn't be here.

"Have you been giving her trouble, Malfoy?" One of the Weasley twins was staring at him accusingly. The tall boy's Beater bat was slung over his shoulder, and the entire Gryffindor team looked up from Harry Potter's bedside as Draco started to respond.

"I don't think that's any of your business, Weas–"

"WHAT _EXACTLY_ IS GOING ON HERE?" He was cut off by Madame Pomfrey's angry screech. They all turned to see the hospital matron sweep into the room, Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall at her heels. "There should _not_ be this many visitors in this wing! I don't care how close you all think you are to Mr. Potter and Miss Weasley!"

There was an immediate uproar among the Gryffindors as Madame Pomfrey crossed the room and began to shoo them toward the doors. The majority of the Slytherin team left without complaint, though the Carrow twins lingered uncertainly for a moment before following. Draco remained firmly in place. Blaise raised his eyebrows questioningly as he made his way toward the doors, but he shook his head. Madame Pomfrey's demand had decided him: he was bloody well staying, and neither the Carrows nor hospital protocol was going to stop him.

"Harry will want us to be here when he wakes up," Granger was saying loudly.

"Yeah, and Ginny's my sister," Githead protested, "so I think –"

"I _said_," Madame Pomfrey interrupted, "I don't care how close you think you are to my patients! Mr. Malfoy, that includes you," she added, noticing that he hadn't moved an inch.

"I'm staying," Draco said flatly.

"Well, if he's staying, then we're sure as hell staying too!" Weasley said, face red.

Madame Pomfrey whirled. "I said, OUT!" she yelled. "I will take points from Gryffindor if I have to!" Weasley looked furious, but under the matron's angry glare, he and Granger retreated from the room. The hospital doors swung shut behind them. "Mr. Malfoy," Pomfrey said, lowering her voice back to its normal pitch. "I don't like to repeat myself –"

"I'm staying," Draco repeated, meeting her eyes. "You can take as many points as you want," he added calmly.

Madame Pomfrey's mouth opened and shut like a fish's as she struggled for a response.

"Let him stay, Poppy," Professor Dumbledore said suddenly. Draco looked up to see the headmaster regarding him with a peculiar look in his eyes…it was appraising, as if he had had a surprising thought and was trying to decide whether or not he was correct. "One visitor will hardly cause problems, I'm sure."

Pomfrey turned to Dumbledore, blinking rapidly. Finally, her lips pursed into a thin line and she nodded shortly. "Fine, but no one else until morning."

"Of course," he replied. "Now, if you wouldn't mind Minerva and I stepping into your office, Poppy, there are some things we need to discuss."

The three adults retreated into the back office and shut the door, and Draco finally sank into the chair at Ginny's bedside. He stared down at her, exhaling into the sudden silence in the wing. She looked so fragile, and he found himself shaking his head and running his hands along the wooden chair-arms in frustration. "You have _got_ to stop nearly dying on me, Weasley," he murmured, even though he knew she couldn't hear him.

* * *

><p><em>She turned quite suddenly to stare at him, brown eyes wide. Her cheeks were flushed, and she had the strangest look on her face – shock mixed with…something else. But before he could figure out exactly what it was, Madame Hooch blew her whistle, and Ginny shook herself, swinging her leg over her Cleansweep and taking to the air.<em>

_As she rose high over the pitch, Draco turned his attention to the rest of the team. The game got heated quickly, and he silently cursed his injured arm. If he hadn't been forced to sit out, they wouldn't be stuck with Montague and his completely obvious fouling tactics. As it was, they would be lucky if McGonagall didn't make them forfeit the game._

_Gryffindor had possession, and one of their Chasers – a girl named Spinnet – was barreling down the pitch with the Quaffle under her arm. She ducked under Flint and turned to pass to Johnson, but Montague threw his whole weight into her side and she dropped the ball, which Blaise scooped up easily from below._

"_Montague makes yet another intentional foul, Professor!" Lee Jordan yelled furiously. "This time against Alicia Spinnet. Zabini takes possession…."_

_Blaise nearly scored, but Wood deflected the Quaffle, a grin on his face, and Gryffindor had it again. Draco shook his head as Montague rammed his broom against Bell, nearly unseating her. Angry protests went up around the stands, and he glanced upward to see Potter and Ginny exchanging terse words._

_A few minutes later, Montague fouled against Bell again, and the protests intensified when Derrick swung his bat at the disoriented girl's head._

_Lee Jordan was furious. "PROFESSOR, DON'T TELL ME YOU'RE LETTING HIM GET AWAY WITH THAT – HE NEARLY LOPPED HER HEAD OFF!" he yelled, pounding clenched fists against the side of his commentator's box._

_Then a million things happened at once, and everything went to hell._

_Someone cried out excitedly, and he looked up just as Ginny sped off in the direction of the Slytherin hoops. She had seen the Snitch, and she was bent low over her broom, her eyes narrowed with focus._

_Suddenly, the shouts of encouragement morphed into screams of fear, and a group of Dementors descended on the pitch, their mangled hands outstretched and their black cloaks billowing around them. Ginny and Potter were high up, above everyone, and the Dementors were bearing down on them. And Draco knew immediately that neither of them would be able to stay in the air._

_He saw Ginny sway on her broom, and he saw her eyes slide shut, and he knew he was yelling something, but he couldn't hear himself over the terrified screams from all around. And then his throat closed up with fear, because suddenly she and Potter were both falling, almost in slow-motion, the high winds buffeting their unconscious bodies as they plummeted toward the ground._

_His hand was at his back pocket, reaching for his wand, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from Ginny's bright red hair streaming around her as she fell, and anyway, he didn't know any spells that could save her. And then, Dumbledore stood up in the professors' box across the pitch, raised his wand, murmured something, and Potter's body was slowing down – but Ginny was still falling, and any second now she was going to hit the ground and her body was going to break in a dozen places. In the next moment, Professor Lupin was on his feet, yelling a spell…._

_But this time, Ginny didn't come to a sickeningly sudden halt. The entire pitch didn't fall dead silent with relief and shock. The professors didn't rush onto the pitch and take Potter and Weasley away, unconscious but alive._

_This time, she hit the ground, and Draco knew – even before the sound of her bones cracking filled his ears and blood began to pool around her broken body – that Ginny was dead._

* * *

><p>He woke with a start.<p>

His heart was hammering in his chest, and he found that his hands were clenched so tightly around the arms of his wooden chair that they ached when he opened them. He swore softly to himself, sitting up straight and running his still-shaking fingers through his hair.

He was still in the Hospital Wing, and the soft light streaming in from the window showed that it was early morning. He had stayed in the same chair by Ginny's bedside all afternoon yesterday, and he must have fallen asleep at some point during the night.

"We have got to stop meeting like this."

He started and turned to see that Ginny had opened her eyes. She was surveying him from her hospital bed, the corners of her mouth turned up in a slight smile.

"How do you feel?" he asked. His eyes flicked up and down her frame, taking in her pallid skin and the dark hollows beneath her eyes. "You look like hell."

"Git," she said. She shifted a bit then stopped short, wincing. "Gods, everything hurts," she murmured. "Like I got hit by the Knight Bus."

Draco nodded. "I think Lupin was a bit too forceful with his levitation spell," he said, moving to stand. "I'll get Madame Pomfrey."

"No," she said quickly, and he lowered himself back down. "I'm fine. Tell me what happened. I remember the Dementors, and then…." She rolled her eyes, as if she the whole incident embarrassed her. "I think I passed out."

He nodded. "You and Scarface both fell off your brooms," he said. "Dumbledore saved Potter, and Lupin got you at the last second. You –"

"And the game?" she cut in.

He frowned. She was worried about _that_? "Forfeit. We'll have a re-match if we both beat Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw."

"Damn. I nearly had the Snitch, too," she said, sighing.

He rolled his eyes. "I see you have your priorities straight," he grumbled.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked sharply.

He felt a stab of annoyance. "You're lying on a hospital bed, and all you want to talk about is the match?"

Her eyes flashed. "I'm obviously fine," she snapped. "Everything aches a bit, but it's not as if –"

For some reason, he found that her attitude made him furious. "Not as if you almost died?" he retorted. "Actually, Gin, that's _exactly_ what it's like."

"Draco –," she began warningly.

He ignored her and barreled on, voice rising. "No, Ginny. Three more seconds and we would've been scraping bits of you off the pitch!"

"Draco…," she said again, more softly now, and he looked up to see her regarding him with the same strange expression on her face that she had worn at the start of the match.

But this time, he understood it. He sighed.

"Zabini told you, didn't he?" he said flatly. She met his eyes and nodded, and he leaned back in his chair, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. "Of course he did, the bloody git," he murmured.

"Why didn't _you_ tell me?" she asked.

He looked back at her. "It never came up."

She raised her eyebrows. "Yes, it did. You told me you saw a hippogriff."

"I said 'something like that,'" he countered. "And if I recall correctly, I said that because I was angry, and I was angry because _you_ hadn't said one bloody word to me in weeks!"

"Because of what's going to happen to that _hippogriff_," she said sharply.

He made a frustrated noise. "And we're back to square bloody one. The hippogriff's still going to be executed, and we're still fighting about it – does what I saw really change anything?"

"Yes," she said flatly, surprising him. "It does."

Whatever he had thought she would say, that wasn't it. He raised his eyebrows at her. "Why?"

"I don't know, it means you care about me, or something."

"I care about you, or something?" he repeated, smirking despite himself. "You should be a poet."

She glared at him. "Oh, sod off. You know what I mean." Sighing, she glanced away before continuing. "This, and what happened on Halloween…not to mention the Chamber. You obviously give a damn what happens to me, and you're the only one who has in while now." Another pause. "So what if you don't want to stand up to your parents?" she said decidedly. "I don't want to fight anymore."

Her words hung in the air for a moment before he responded. "Gods, Weasley, you make us sound so nauseating."

She groaned. "You are _such_ an arse, Malfoy," she said, rolling her eyes.

"No," he countered. "Just allergic to sentimentality." He met her eyes and grinned. She grinned back. "And I did stand up to my parents, you know."

Her eyebrows rose higher. "Over the summer. I had words with my father about Tom's diary…got a nice slap across the face for it, too." Ginny's eyes widened. "I apologized later, though," he added. "So don't get too excited."

She was silent for a moment, processing that. She opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off by a groan from the bed a few feet over. Potter was regaining consciousness. "You may be my best friend, Malfoy," she said finally, lowering her voice, "but I'm pretty sure I'll hate your parents for the rest of my life."

He snorted. "You wouldn't be the first," he replied wryly.

"Nor the last, I'm sure."

He laughed aloud at that, suddenly feeling lighter than he had in weeks, and grabbing his wand, he murmured a spell so that a nearby chair flew over and landed before him. He settled his legs on it, ankles crossed.

"So, Weasley, tell me about the Carrow twins. They seemed awfully protective of you when I –"

Just then, the doors to the wing creaked open, and a familiar ginger-haired head poked through, followed by its bushy-haired shadow. Their usual bickering preceded them, and Draco rolled his eyes derisively. Ginny snorted.

"I'm _telling_ you, he probably won't be awake yet," Granger was saying.

"Well we can at least be there when he wakes up," Weasley replied huffily. "He'll want to know about his Nimbus…he'll be crushed."

"Honestly, Ron – it's only a _broom_!"

"How can you even say that? It's a – Ginny!" Weasley stopped short, and gave his conscious sister a once-over. "You look all right," he said, ignoring Draco completely.

"Yeah," Ginny said. "I think Harry's okay as well…he's just waking up now."

Ron frowned, and his lips pursed into a thin line. "Well, he's got it much worse than you, so it takes him a while to recover," he said defensively. "He sees some pretty scary things."

Ginny's eyebrows went up. "That's not what I meant, Ron," she replied, voice hard.

Ron made a scoffing sound and looked away. There was a tense pause. "How's your arm, Malfoy?" Granger said suddenly, arching an eyebrow at him.

"It's fine," he said slowly.

"The three of us have been working with Hagrid on Buckbeak's trial," she continued. "And we've found some really good stuff, so I doubt you'll be getting the satisfaction."

"Of?"

"Of killing an innocent animal," she said flatly.

"Merlin, Hermione," Ginny cut in, rolling her eyes. "Would you just _stop_. Hagrid brought in a really dangerous creature, and a student got hurt. He's not totally blameless, and neither is the hippogriff, so just bloody _stop_."

"You should stop criticizing her," Ron said warningly, face reddening.

"And _you_ should tell her to get off her high horse," Ginny countered.

"You weren't there," Ron said loudly. "You have no idea what you're talking about, and –"

"Bloody hell." They all turned in the direction of the groan. Harry had woken and was rubbing his hands over his eyes, wincing a bit. "You would think in a hospital wing you'd at least be able to get some peace and quiet."

"Harry! How do you feel?" Hermione said, rushing to his bedside.

"We have some bad news, mate," Ron said, giving Ginny one last glare before striding over and pulling the curtain to block them out.

Draco swung his feet off the chair and turned to face Ginny, resting his elbows on his knees. "I thought you were on their side about the hippogriff," he said, voice low.

"I am," she replied. "And I won't ever hesitate to tell you when you're being an arse. But the rest of them can fuck off. They don't even know you."

He nodded. "Well," he said, exhaling. "I should go get breakfast. I haven't eaten since lunch yesterday."

"Draco," she said suddenly, catching his arm as he stood to leave. He looked down at her, eyebrows raised. "I know you, and…remember what I said in the Common Room a few weeks ago? About you being a coward?" He nodded. He remembered it far more clearly than he wanted to. She shook her head. "I didn't mean it. You're not a coward."

He met her eyes and maneuvered their hands so he could squeeze hers. "I'll come back later, Gin," he said.

She nodded and smiled, and he left the Hospital Wing. But he didn't go to the Great Hall; he had other things to do. He went back to his room, pulled out a sheet of parchment, and began to write.

* * *

><p>"And what is this?" Professor Dumbledore asked, leaning forward in his chair to take the sheet of parchment. His eyes skimmed over the still-drying ink.<p>

"My recollection of what happened on the afternoon I was scratched by Hagrid's hippogriff," Draco replied flatly. He leaned his elbows on the back of the chair on the other side of the headmaster's desk.

Dumbledore's eyebrows went up just a smidgen. "What would you like me to do with this, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco met the headmaster's eyes. "Give it to the lawyer defending Buckbeak," he said.

"Are you saying this will help Buckbeak's case?"

"No," he replied. "I'm not saying anything. It's simply everything I remember, as I remember it. The lawyer can do whatever he wants with it."

Professor Dumbledore nodded slowly, not breaking their gaze. He re-folded the sheet of parchment and settled his hands on it. "I'm sure the lawyer will find this most helpful," he said. "And I'm sure Professor Hagrid will appreciate it."

"No," Draco said quickly. "I would rather you didn't mention this to anyone."

"Are you certain?" Dumbledore asked. "This would reflect…well on you. Hagrid will almost certainly want to thank you."

Draco snorted. "To be honest, Professor, I'm not doing it for Hagrid."

"Ah," Dumbledore said thoughtfully. "Well, I'll see that it gets to Buckbeak's lawyer. Thank you."

Draco nodded and turned away, trying to ignore the pondering look that Dumbledore gave him as he left the office.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>So. In the canon Gryffindor/Slytherin game, it was raining, the Grim appeared, and Lupin wasn't there due to the full moon. But I wanted to change those things, so I did. I've been trying from the beginning to stick to canon unless it made sense for canon to change as a result of Ginny being sorted into Slytherin. But as you know, I've already had to change a few things purely for the plot, and I've finally decided that from now on, I'm not going to stress about changing minor details here and there that have nothing to do with Ginny's sorting. Canon will still be serving as a general framework. Hope that's okay with everyone!

Also, I'm sorry this chapter's shorter than usual. I was going to try to fit the rest of Ginny's second year into this one chapter, but I decided it's easier to just split it in two. You might have to wait a little longer for the next one - I have several exams coming up and won't have much time to write.

Thanks for all of your wonderful reviews! I appreciate every single one. Please leave a review this time around!


	11. The Patronus and the Party

**Chapter 11: The Patronus and the Party**

Ginny was released from the Hospital Wing just before class three days later. She made her way up to her dormitory, wincing a little from soreness as she climbed the stairs. She shoved the vial of pain potion Madame Pomfrey had given her into the top drawer of her bedside table and shouldered her book bag before heading back down for Charms.

When she arrived, a tad bit late, Rachel actually got up and moved to give her the desk beside Flora and Hestia. Ginny raised her eyebrows a bit, but then she just smiled and sank down in the vacated seat in silence. Her reputation had skyrocketed since the try-outs at the beginning of the year, but she was still getting used to the favors and the compliments and the _deference_.

"It's called hierarchy, Weasley," Draco had said. He had been by her bedside at least two or three hours a day while she was in the wing, and she'd brought it up over a late night snack. "I'd expect someone with six brothers to know something about it."

Ginny took a bite of her cupcake – Draco's unfailing ability to sweet-talk the Kitchen Elves into giving him food after-hours really had its benefits. "My parents didn't run our house like a royal court, thanks very much."

"And look where it got you," he quipped, smirking slyly. "Unsophisticated, _sloppy_...," he reached out and brushed a crumb off her cheek pointedly. "And absolutely no respect for your elders."

She glared at him. "Go to hell," she said, but the corners of her lips turned up in amusement.

"Not to mention your foul mouth," he added, grinning, and she threw her cupcake wrapper at him.

The Charms period ended quickly. "I'll catch up with you later," she told Flora and Hestia as she stuffed her notebook into her bag. She left the classroom and heading through the halls to the Defense Against the Dark Arts room, hoping she'd be able to catch Lupin before he left. When she got there, the students were pouring out of the classroom. Hufflepuff and Slytherin Third Years. Draco was deep in conversation with Blaise, but he noticed her and paused, a cheeky grin on his face.

"First day out of the Hospital Wing and you're waiting for me outside my class? I'm flattered, Weasley."

"Unfortunately, I'm not here for you," she said.

"Obviously she's here to see me," Blaise cut in smoothly, grinning widely. "You look healthy, Weasley."

"Thanks," she replied. "But I actually need to speak with Lupin, so I'll leave you two to stroke your own egos, shall I?" She smiled brightly and moved past them.

Draco laughed. "See you at dinner, Gin," he said as they walked away down the hall.

By now, all of the students had cleared out, and Ginny knocked lightly on the open classroom door as she entered. Lupin looked up from a stack of papers he was skimming and slid them into the top drawer of his desk, but not before Ginny saw that the top sheet was absolutely _covered_ in corrective red ink. She winced, and Lupin smiled. "Not to worry, Miss Weasley. I assure you those are not Second Year papers." He straightened in his seat. "I'm glad to see you out of the Hospital Wing."

"Yeah, I was just released this morning," she said. "I actually wanted to…," she paused, cursing herself for not figuring out exactly what to say beforehand. "…thank you for what you did," she finished lamely.

He smiled genuinely. "Of course," he said. "I'm just happy to see that you're doing better. I'm sorry if my spell was a little too…strong. I'm sure it caused you some unnecessary discomfort."

She shook her head, unable to contain a small chuckle. "I don't think I was in a position to be picky, to be honest," she said.

He laughed. "That's probably true."

"Anyway," she said, "that's all. I just wanted to say thank you. My intact limbs and I really appreciate it."

"You're welcome. Anytime." He paused. "Though hopefully not anytime _soon_."

"Exactly," she said with a light laugh, moving back toward the doorway. "Have a good rest of the –"

"Miss Weasley," Lupin said suddenly, and she turned to see him regarding her thoughtfully. "I'm sorry to bring up a sensitive subject, but I understand that the Dementors have a very…powerful effect on you." She nodded. "I'm going to be teaching Mr. Potter how to defend against them starting in a few weeks. It's a very advanced spell, and it's certainly not guaranteed that you'll be able to cast it effectively, but if you'd like…."

"Yes," Ginny said, before he could even finish. She didn't care how difficult it was – if there was a spell that would keep her from hearing Tom's voice, murmuring and hissing in her ear, ever again, she was going to learn it.

Lupin grinned at her enthusiasm. "All right then. I'll let you know where and when after the holidays."

* * *

><p><em>Three months later, mid-February<em>

Ginny shut her eyes tight, trying to block out the office, the view of the grounds from the window, and Harry and Professor Lupin watching her keenly from across the room. _Focus, focus, focus_ – she needed to draw up a happy memory, the happiest she could think of. She gripped her wand tightly in her hand, her mind flitting over the memories she'd used in previous lessons….

_She and Ron, ages seven and eight, seeing whether they could throw the garden gnomes over Dad's shed. Laughing so hard she fell down as Fred and George were chased through the house by a pink-haired Bill. Her dad, eyes wide with wonder, as she showed him the old Muggle cigarette lighter she'd found._

But none of those had been good enough. They were all colored by how awkward things had become with her brothers and her parents. She would need something else.

Her brain skimmed over other happy memories, images flashing before her eyes.

_The first time she'd ever ridden a broom. She had been eight, and she had snuck out after dinner and stolen Charlie's broom from the shed. Her mum had insisted she was too young, but she'd flown anyway, and the wind in her hair and against her cheeks had felt incredible._

This thought morphed seamlessly into the memory of her try-out months ago. She remembered _tossing the Quaffle through the hoop behind Bletchley and whirling, a grin on her face, as those surprising cheers went up in the stands. She caught Draco's eye from across the pitch, and he smiled widely. She landed, and Blaise threw a congratulatory arm over her shoulder, and she was laughing, face-flushed from the flight._

That memory made her smile even now, and feeling a heady kind of confidence fill her chest, she raised her wand. "Expecto Patronum!"

Her Patronus burst from the end of her wand, and her eyes flew open to see a horse, bright white and shimmering, gallop once around the room before dissolving into wisps and then disappearing altogether. She exhaled; she hadn't even realized she had been holding her breath.

"That was incredible!" Harry said loudly, and Lupin was beaming at her. Ginny grinned.

"Do you mind if I ask what you thought about?" Lupin asked.

Her eyes flicked to Harry – she'd rather not have him judging her. "I'd rather not say, if that's all right."

Harry gave her a strange look, but Lupin just nodded good-naturedly. "Well, I think that's a good note to end on for today, don't you?" he said, straightening from where he had been leaning against his desk. "Although, Ginny, would you mind staying back for a moment?" he added. "I wanted to discuss something with you. It'll only take a second."

Ginny stayed in place as Harry left the office, and Lupin crossed around his desk and sank into his chair. "Congratulations on producing a Patronus – and a corporeal one, too. Not many witches your age would be able to do it," he said.

"Thanks," she said, smiling and sinking awkwardly onto the arm of the sofa on her side of the room.

"Of course, you'll have to keep practicing. It's a bit more difficult when there's a real Dementor present, but I'm sure you'll be able to handle it."

"I hope so."

Harry was able to practice with his Boggart, but they'd discovered early on that this wasn't an option for Ginny. Whenever the Boggart turned to her, it transformed from a Dementor into something that she had realized immediately was much, much more frightening. She saw herself, her eyes glazed over, holding a dead rooster in her left hand and writing horrifying words in the air in its blood. She shivered at the thought.

Lupin nodded and sat forward in his chair, meeting her eyes. After a brief pause, he spoke. "Ginny, you don't look like someone who appreciates being talked down to, so I'm just going to get to the point."

She was torn between appreciation and confusion, so she forced her face to a neutral expression and just gave a short nod for him to continue.

"I know your parents well, from years ago, and I know that your House Sorting must have made them…uncomfortable." He paused, and Ginny nodded. "And I've noticed over the past few months that you aren't very close with your brothers, which…knowing your family…surprises me."

She nodded again.

"Now you seem to have plenty of friends in Slytherin, so this might be completely useless," he continued, "but I know it must be hard for you, with your family. And I just want to tell you that if you ever need help or advice from an adult, and you'd rather not go to your parents, well…." He paused thoughtfully. "I know what it's like to feel a bit…isolated. So my door is always open."

She stared at him for a moment, and she could read the genuineness in his gaze. She felt a rush of affection at the kindness. "I appreciate that, Professor," she said finally. "I really do."

He smiled. "Good." He opened the top drawer of his desk and pulled out a stack of papers. "I've done this to myself," he sighed. "Assigned inches and inches of homework, and now I have to grade."

She grinned. "Well, good luck," she said, tugging her bag higher on her shoulder as she left the office. She liked Lupin. He was genuine and kind, and she appreciated that, unlike her parents, he didn't look at her with an irritating mixture of concern and discomfort. And he didn't offer her help because he was trying to _save _her, or anything equally condescending. He seemed to really care. She couldn't imagine herself ever actually going to him for anything, but she appreciated the sentiment. She wondered about him, though. Some days he would look exhausted, pale and even shaky, and other days, like today, he would be completely fine. She shrugged thoughtfully; it was a mystery.

* * *

><p>A few weeks later, after another successful Patronus lesson, she followed Harry out the door of Lupin's office.<p>

"Heading to the Great Hall?" he asked, removing his glasses to wipe them on his shirt as they walked.

"Yeah," she replied. He nodded, replacing his glasses, and they continued on together, awkwardly silent. They usually had lessons in the evenings and went their separate ways right afterward. Ginny couldn't remember the last time they had spoken without Ron standing nearby, glaring at her disapprovingly for no apparent reason.

"You were brilliant in there," he said finally, smiling over at her.

"Thanks," she replied. "But like Lupin said, I won't really know how good I am until I face a real Dementor. Which will hopefully be…."

"Not anytime soon," Harry finished.

She smiled. "Right."

They fell back into an awkward silence.

"How's your Firebolt?" she asked finally.

He brightened at that. "Cleared to play, actually!"

"That's great," she said. "For you, that is. For us, not so much."

His smile actually widened at that, though she saw him try to hide it. They were approaching the Great Hall, and they could hear the sounds of the dinnertime rush filtering out into the entrance hall.

"You can try it out sometime if you want," Harry said.

Her head whipped around. "Really?" He met her gaze, his green eyes sparkling and a grin on his face. Two years ago, getting that look from Harry Potter would have made her melt into a gooey puddle on the ground. As he answered, a quick nod to the affirmative, she actually waited for her body to react, expecting her face to flush and her palms to begin sweating.

She waited for a full three seconds.

Nothing.

They were standing in the doorway now, and she cleared her throat, still recovering from the surprise of her reaction – or lack thereof. "I'll, er…let you know, I guess," she said finally.

He didn't seem to notice anything was amiss, and he just nodded. "Okay. See you later," he said, before striding over to the Gryffindor table.

She sank down next to Draco, and he raised his eyebrows at her. "Something wrong, Weasley?"

She shook her head. She was pretty sure Draco knew about her embarrassing crush on The-Boy-Who-Lived, though she would've rather cut out her tongue than discuss it with him. "No," she replied. She exhaled, then beamed, pushing all thoughts of Harry and the fact that her crush seemed to have faded from her mind. "So, guess who produced the best potion in Snape's class today?"

"Well I know it wasn't you," he said, smirking. "As I recall, that Ravenclaw only just barely kept her eyebrows last week." Ginny rolled her eyes, and as they fell into their usual half-friendly, half-teasing conversation, she forgot completely about her conversation with Harry Potter.

* * *

><p><em>Two and a half months later<em>_, late May  
><em>

The Third Year boys' dormitory was a complete mess. Clothing was strewn unceremoniously on beds and across the floor, and all five trunks lay open, belongings spilling out from inside. It was a week to the end of term, and they were all in varying stages of packing. Nott was off somewhere, though, and Crabbe and Goyle hadn't been able to resist the warm spring weather; Ginny could hear their loud shouts coming in through the open window.

She lay on Draco's bed, tossing his Remembrall up in the air to Blaise, who had gotten bored and was now lounging beside her, one knee raised and the opposite ankle settled across it. Blaise caught the glass orb on its arc back down, paused, and threw it back up toward the canopy. "What do you think Draco's chances are against Potter and the amazing Firebolt tomorrow?" she said, catching the Remembrall and shooting Blaise a conspiratorial look.

Blaise smirked. "Pressure's on – it's the _finals _after all," he answered loudly. He glanced in the direction of the loo, a glint in his eyes. "I wouldn't bet on him."

Draco poked his head out from around the loo doorframe, pausing in the act of throwing all of his bathroom things into a bag. "Why the hell am I friends with you two?" he said.

"Our tireless wit, obviously," Ginny replied easily.

"Not to mention our stunning good looks," Blaise added, stretching his arm out a bit to catch the Remembrall.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Almost makes me miss the days when my hangers-on were Crabbe and Goyle."

Blaise snorted. "You're seriously deluded if you think Weasley and I are _your_ hangers-on, mate."

"Exactly," Ginny quipped, "You're clearly both _my_ hangers-on."

Blaise laughed, and Draco shook his head, retreating back around the corner. They could hear him rummaging around in the cabinets.

"Speaking of which, how's Daphne?" Ginny continued. "I saw her attached to your lips last Tuesday as I was leaving Charms."

Blaise put his hands behind his head and shrugged. "That's over," he said nonchalantly.

"Thank Merlin for that," Draco said, coming out of the loo and tossing the zippered bag into his trunk. He moved to around Ginny's side of the bed and began emptying the top drawer of his bedside table. "If I had to hear her complain one more time that you wouldn't date her, I was going to hex someone."

"I told her from the beginning it was casual," Blaise said, shrugging again. "Is it my fault she didn't listen?"

Ginny raised her eyebrows. "Casual?"

Draco snorted. "You know, snogging in broom cupboards but refusing to go anywhere near a relationship? It's all very romantic."

"Wow, you really know how to sweep a girl off her feet, don't you, Blaise?" Ginny said, laughing.

"Sod off," Blaise said, throwing a pillow in their general direction. "Anyway, she was getting to be a bit much, so I told her we should stop."

"Cold, Zabini," Ginny said, shaking her head.

"I wouldn't worry about her too much," Draco said. "She's staying with her aunt in Italy this summer. I'm sure there'll be plenty of blokes there willing to help her get over it."

"More power to her," Blaise said. He shrugged, and Ginny observed that he didn't seem the least bit bothered by the prospect. Daphne must have been really deluded to think he had any romantic feelings for her.

Draco stood back, brow furrowed as he surveyed the room. "I'm definitely forgetting something," he said.

Ginny tossed him the Remembrall, and he caught it with reflexes that boded well for the game tomorrow. The clear smoke immediately deepened to red. Draco stared into it for a moment, and the smoke cleared to reveal the fuzzy image of an inkpot. "Right, my green ink," he said, grinning and tossing the orb back to her. "Where did I put that?"

"Useful, that," Blaise said, gesturing for her to throw it back.

Ginny sat up to help Draco look for the ink. "Did you leave it in the Common Room with your bookbag?"

"Why would I do that? I don't use that ink for schoolwork," he replied, crouching down to look under his bed.

"You wrote your mum a letter in the Common Room two days ago, genius," she said, already heading out the dormitory door. "I'll go look."

The Common Room was deserted but for a pair of Fourth Year boys playing Exploding Snap in one corner. Everyone else was enjoying the afternoon outside. Ginny made straight for their favorite low table and, true to form, found the inkpot hidden beneath the strap of Draco's open bookbag. As she scooped it up, she noticed an envelope protruding out from behind some schoolwork, and before she could even process it, her eyes had skimmed over the front.

_To: Mr. Draco Malfoy_

_From: Mrs. Winifred Hopkirk, Department of Magical Law Enforcement_

_Re: Trial of Hippogriff "Buckbeak" before the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures_

Before she could stop herself, Ginny had removed the envelope from the bag. She held it between her fingers for a few seconds, just staring down at it.

After they had made up, she and Draco had had a sort of unspoken agreement not to mention the hippogriff incident, and they had maintained it even after Ron had furiously informed her that, thanks to Lucius Malfoy's influence, Buckbeak had lost his appeal. She still felt a stab of discomfort and anger at the thought of the hippogriff being executed; she knew it didn't deserve death, and she did care about it. But she had decided that she cared about her friendship with Draco more. So she'd kept her mouth shut.

But why the hell was Draco receiving official Ministry information about it? With a glance toward the boys' staircase, she flipped open the envelope and pulled out the letter.

_Dear Mr. Malfoy,_

_My name is Winifred Hopkirk, and I was the lawyer assigned by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to defend the hippogriff Buckbeak in Case #25971 before the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures._

_Unfortunately, I am writing to inform you that, despite my best efforts, Buckbeak has lost his trial and will be executed in a few week's time. I know that you did not ask for an update on the status of the case, but I decided that you ought to be given one in light of your last-minute involvement in the proceedings._

_Your account of the events, which was forwarded to me by Headmaster Dumbledore, was highly beneficial to Buckbeak's case. Though the trial didn't go our way, your submission was greatly appreciated, and I would like to take this opportunity to thank you for your contribution._

_Please do not hesitate to contact me if there are any legal matters with which I can help you in the future. _

_Best regards,_

_WH_

Ginny blinked, skimming the letter once more and putting the pieces together. Draco had submitted his version of events to Buckbeak's lawyer? He hadn't told her… But then, he wouldn't, would he? He would have had to sacrifice enough pride to send the letter in the first place. She felt a rush of affection for him as she re-folded the letter into its envelope and carefully placed it back into his bag.

She headed back upstairs, and he rolled his eyes as she handed him the inkpot. "Go ahead and say 'I told you so,'" he said. "I can see that smirk on your face."

She lounged back onto his bed, allowing a wide grin to spread across her face. "I told you so," she replied, though the ink had nothing to do with it.

* * *

><p>Draco relished the feeling of the warm water coursing over his skin. He shut his eyes, but couldn't wipe the grin from his face – they had won the Quidditch Cup! Ginny had scored the first goal, and Flint had followed with a quick second, putting them ahead in the first ten minutes. It had been a close thing, though; Derrick and Bole's constant fouls had given Wood's team far too many easy penalty shots. They had been down by fifty points when he'd spotted the Snitch, a momentary gold glint hovering right next to Spinnet's left ankle. He had taken off, ducking over Bell and under Flint with Potter on his tail, and his vision had actually tunneled in the moment just before he swiped the Snitch from the air and won the match.<p>

It had been exhilarating, and the Slytherins had been ecstatic. The furious look on Wood's face and the blazing look on Ginny's had only added to the intoxicating triumph of winning the Cup. Draco exhaled as he turned off the water and grabbed his towel. Loud music and laughter filtered up to the dormitory from the Common Room below – the celebration had already started.

Blaise had showered before him and had apparently already headed downstairs. With his towel wrapped firmly around his waist, Draco crossed the empty Common Room and pulled a pair of dark trousers and a white button-down from his trunk. He dressed, folded the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows, combed his hair, and headed down to join the party.

"The hero of the evening himself!" Blaise called out loudly when he got to the bottom of the stairs, and Draco grinned as a victorious cheer went up around the room. He scanned the room as he made his way over to the drinks table. Most of the house seemed to be here, and it was crowded. Blaise was leaning casually in one corner, a bottled Butterbeer in hand, chatting up some pretty Fourth Year. Daphne, who seemed to have gotten over Blaise's rejection quite quickly – or else had something to prove – was sitting on one of the sofas, giggling as a burly Fifth Year murmured something in her ear. He spotted Ginny on the other side of the room, laughing at something one of her roommates – Bridget something – had just said.

He selected a bottle of Butterbeer and muttered a quick spell to pop the cap. He took a swig, watching Pansy excuse herself from a conversation with some Fourth Year boy and head in his direction. Draco could tell from the disappointed look on the boy's face that he had been chatting her up (or at least attempting to), and he felt a totally irrational twinge of smugness. Merlin knew he didn't want to go out with Pansy, but _she_ wanted to go out with him, Fourth Year be damned.

"Are you going to offer me a drink?" Pansy said, leaning against the counter beside him and flashing him a flirtatious smile.

"Is that what I'm expected to do?" he asked, arching an eyebrow at her.

Her smile widened. "Depends what your goals are."

He smirked, but didn't respond as he handed her a bottle. She opened it and blew off the cool steam that escaped, watching it dissipate into the air. "You were brilliant today," she said, taking a sip. "I think the Bell girl might have been crying afterward."

"Well you know what they say," he replied. "If someone's not crying after the game, you didn't play it right."

She laughed, a tittering little giggle. On other days, that laugh had annoyed him, but he found that this time, it made his ego swell pleasantly. Maybe it was the confidence of the big win, or the fact that Zabini had been snogging Daphne for months, but Draco rather felt that he deserved a bit of casual fun.

They chatted flirtatiously for several more minutes, and just when Draco had finished his bottle, Pansy set hers down and looked up at him. "You've been holding out on me, Draco," she said.

He smirked and let his hand brush against hers. "What do you mean?" he asked, though her meaning couldn't have been clearer.

"I'm not _Daphne_," she said disdainfully. "I don't care if we date."

"No?"

She shook her head. "We're young," she murmured, moving closer and running her fingertips along his arm.

He smiled. "True," he said. And before he could say anything more, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her mouth to his. He'd never snogged anyone before, but Pansy seemed to know what she was doing, so he ignored the catcalls and just let himself and his ego enjoy it.

* * *

><p>"Weasley."<p>

Ginny looked up to see Draco standing beside her armchair. He was flushed and smirking.

She grinned. "I see congratulations are in order," she said. "Or rather, the whole Common Room saw."

He smiled and handed her a Butterbeer. "Care to make a kitchen run? The food they got for this is rubbish."

She shrugged and stood. "Sure." They made late-night trips to the kitchens on a regular basis, and they hadn't been caught yet. "I'll see you later," she added to the other Second Year girls. They exited the Common Room, bottles in hand, and lowered their voices to whispers as they made their way through the dungeons and out into the corridors.

"And what's the verdict?" she said lightly.

He didn't ask what she meant, just took a self-satisfied swig of his Butterbeer. "I think I've discovered another talent of mine," he said.

She snorted.

"And we're keeping it casual," he added.

"Taking a page from Blaise's book?"

He nodded, and she laughed. "Better be careful, Malfoy. You'll get a reputation."

"I think that's the kind of reputation I can live with."

"A reputation for shoving your tongue down girls' throats?" she quipped.

"Something like that," he replied, smirking.

They arrived at the kitchens, and the House-elves, who had gotten used to them by now, didn't even protest before producing an assortment of ice creams, cookies, and various other sweets. Draco settled himself down on one of the long kitchen benches and reached for one of the cookies, but Ginny had a sudden idea. "Wait," she said, and Draco turned to her quizzically. She looked over to one of the House-elves. "Can you put all this in a bag?"

Two minutes later, the Elves had loaded all of the food into a brown paper bag, along with the necessary utensils. "Thanks," Ginny said, grabbing it and heading out of the kitchen.

"Where the hell are we going, Weasley?" Draco asked, following skeptically.

"Just wait," she said. "It'll be good."

She led him across the corridor and down a few more halls toward the nearest staircase. "Where are we going?" he asked again.

"Merlin, Malfoy, I thought waiting for your servants to bring you your meals on diamond-encrusted platters would have taught you some patience."

"My servants don't take nearly this long," he countered as they got to the top of the stairs, and she laughed aloud. He grinned and opened his mouth to say something more –

"WHO'S THERE?" Filch's voice sounded from around the corner, and though her eyes widened in panic, she couldn't stifle a giggle. She looked up at Draco, and something about her expression must have been hilarious, because he started laughing too, covering his mouth in an attempt to smother the sound.

"STUDENTS OUT AFTER HOURS, MRS. NORRIS," Filch said, unable to conceal the glee in his voice. His footsteps were coming closer.

"Quick…come on," Draco said. He grabbed her hand and pulled her into the nearest classroom, casting a quick Silencing spell to mute the sound of the door closing. Ginny was nearly falling over with helpless laughter by now, and she let him pull her farther into the darkness and under the professor's desk at the front of the room.

"Weasley…you have to…," he said, gasping for air himself. He was laughing so hard that he was bent double. "You have to…Ginny..._Shhhhhhh_!"

The door creaked open and let in a long shaft of orange light, and Draco shoved a hand over Ginny's mouth. "Anyone in here?" Filch said, and she bit her lip to keep herself from making a sound. Filch stood in the doorway for a moment, then retreated back out. The door shut and they were left in darkness again.

Draco removed his hand, and Ginny gasped for breath. "He's so bloody _creepy_!" she murmured.

"He's a Squib," Draco said, grinning back at her in the darkness. "He has to get a sense of power from somewhere."

They sat in silence for a few moments, then Ginny took a swig of her Butterbeer, which she'd somehow managed to keep hold of during their flight, and peered out from around the desk. "He's probably gone by now."

Draco nodded and stood. "Come on," he said, pulling her up. "Lead the way."

They peered around the doorway, but the corridor outside was deserted, and they crept out in silence. Down a few more hallways, and they arrived at the Great Hall.

Ginny hopped up on the Ravenclaw table and lay flat on the surface, staring up at the enchanted ceiling. The sky looked beautiful tonight – clear and littered with stars. She heard Draco rummaging through the brown bag of food, and then he lay down beside her, eating the ice cream out of the tin with a spoon.

"Can't say I'm surprised about you and Pansy," she said. "You know what they say. Quidditch is the best aphrodisiac."

He laughed and proffered her the ice cream, which she took. "And what would you know about aphrodisiacs, Weasley?"

Ginny snorted. "I grew up with six brothers," she replied, taking a bite and licking the spoon.

"Oh Merlin," Draco said. He turned his head to look at her. "Please tell me they're not procreating."

She laughed, handing the ice cream back. "Not yet, though my Mum is beginning to give Bill a hard time about settling down."

"Well if he wants to continue the Weasley tradition of having a million ginger children, he better get started soon."

Ginny reached over and slapped his arm, but she was grinning. She had another sudden idea, and she lifted herself onto her elbows to look down at him. "You should try to make a Patronus! I wonder what yours is."

He raised his eyebrows at her, looking unconvinced. "Come on, humor me," she said. "Wand out, happy memory, Expecto Patronum."

He sighed and sat up, drawing his wand. She demonstrated the movement, nodding encouragingly, and he shut his eyes for a long moment. "Expecto Patronum!" he said.

Nothing happened.

Ginny sighed. "Well, it was worth a shot. It took me a dozen tries to get it anyway."

Draco smirked. "But you thought I'd be able to do it in one? I'm flattered, Weasley."

She rolled her eyes and lay back down on the cool surface of the table, reaching down to the bench beside her and retrieving her Butterbeer from where she'd set it. She held the cool bottle between her hands, toying with the stem. "Sorry…I thought you'd be able to."

He didn't look too miffed, and she figured that after winning the match and getting his first snog, not even failing to perform a difficult spell could dampen his good spirits. "Not a lot of happy memories to draw from, maybe," he said, shoving his wand back into his pocket. "Especially not this year." He lay back down next to her and picked up the ice cream.

"This _has_ been a shit year, hasn't it?" she said speculatively.

He shrugged. "Dementors, a massive row, and a grand total of two extended stays in the Hospital Wing," he said. "Shit, yes, but I still think it beats last year." She turned to find him smirking at her.

Ginny thought for a moment. "Well, I'll drink to that," she said finally, and they clinked glasses. She took a long swig of the gold liquid and grinned back at him.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> So that's it for Ginny's second year. I decided to pass over all of the adventures the Trio had at the end of the year (Sirius, Buckbeak, etc.) because I don't think it's relevant to Draco and Ginny's developing friendship. Next up will be the summer! I had a ton of fun writing this chapter, especially the last bit - I hope it was equally fun to read!

I was reading a really fantastic fic a few days ago, and the author came up with questions for readers to answer in their reviews. I'm going to take a page from her book...since I don't have time to reply to all of your lovely reviews, I'd like to get to know you a little better this way. Please leave a review and answer these questions (along with your comments about the chapter, of course!):

**What's the best non-HP book you've ever read? What's the worst?**

Thanks for reading!


	12. Neville and Cedric

**Author's Note:** I'm super excited to be starting on Ginny's third year! I know a lot of you have been looking forward to the romance-type stuff, and even though you'll have to wait for DG action (patience, guys!), their love lives do pick up from here :)

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 12: Neville and Cedric<strong>

Ginny took a sip of her drink – something sparkling and sweet – and watched over the top of her glass as the bride and groom whirled across the dance floor. The Fawcetts had erected a giant tent in their back garden, and everything inside was pink and peach, from the tablecloths to the flower garlands to the five-tiered cake sitting in one corner. It all gave Ginny a headache.

She was bored out of her mind. She swirled her glass, her eyes wandering around the tent. The eldest Fawcett girl, Nancy, had just married some paper-pusher at the Ministry…Wendell something or other, and about a hundred and fifty guests were there, including most of the members of the Wizarding families of Ottery St. Catchpole. She didn't see Luna and her dad, though. She wondered where they were.

Charlie hadn't been able to make it; he had said cryptically that he and the other dragon workers were prepping for a big event, but Bill was here, twirling some witch on the dance floor. Fred and George were talking to Sally Fawcett and a few of her friends, Ron was at the buffet (typical, she thought derisively), and Percy was sitting with their parents. That left her, sitting alone and wearing an uncomfortable pair of heels her mum had shrunk for her this morning.

Through the dancing couples, her eyes fastened on the equally bored-looking face of Neville Longbottom. Raising her eyebrows, she stood and wove her way through the room.

"Bride or groom?" she asked. He looked up at her with surprise. A flash of apprehension crossed his face, which puzzled her.

"What?" he replied, blinking.

"Are you here for the bride or groom?" she repeated, more slowly this time.

"Oh. Er…groom," he said. "My gran knows his gran."

"Ah," she replied.

She waited for him to ask her to sit. He didn't, but she sank down beside him anyway. They sat in silence for a moment.

"So, how is your gran anyway?" she asked finally.

"Fine," he said shortly, giving her a guarded look.

Her brow furrowed. Why was he acting so strangely? There was no reason for them to be awkward around one another – they'd spent plenty of time together before Hogwarts – and she was just trying to be polite. She tried again. "And your parents?"

This time, he shot her a harsh glare. "Why?" he asked sharply.

"I was just asking," she snapped back, matching his tone. He looked a bit taken aback, and his lips formed a small 'o.' "Is there something wrong, Neville?" she continued, more neutrally this time.

He swallowed, cheeks reddening. "Well, no," he replied. "It's just…."

She folded her arms. "Just?"

"Whenever one of your friends wants to know about my parents, it's usually so they can mock them," he said, meeting her eyes with embarrassment.

"My friends?"

He raised his eyebrows at her. "Slytherins."

"Oh." It was true. Most of Slytherin _did_ make fun of Neville. Draco and Blaise taunted him all the time. He was such an easy target, and he always got so worked up about his parents…. "I wasn't going to," she said finally.

"Sorry," he said. "I just assumed…." He cleared his throat and smiled shyly. "They're doing well."

She smiled back. "Good."

They lapsed into silence for another moment, and just as she began to consider getting up and leaving him be, he groaned. "My gran's telling the story of how Uncle Algie dropped me out the window _again_."

She followed his gaze to where Augusta Longbottom was indeed telling an apparently hilarious story while pointing in her grandson's direction. The wedding guests around her were in stitches. "It is a pretty funny story," Ginny said, smirking a bit as she remembered when Neville had first told it to her. They'd been about six, and he'd gone incredibly pink as he recounted bouncing when he hit the ground. "And anyway, it was your first sign of magic. You have to let her tell that one."

Neville made a face. "She loves to go on and on about how I was almost a Squib."

"There's no such thing as _almost_ a Squib," she replied, nudging his foot. "Either you're magical or you aren't. And you're magical," she added matter-of-factly. He made a skeptical sound, but he seemed to brighten a bit at that.

"Did you know gran's collected almost a hundred different decorated teacups now?" he asked suddenly, tone warm now.

"Already?" she replied, smiling. "Last time I was at your house, she only had about fifty."

"Yeah, but that was _ages_ ago…almost three years, isn't it?"

"Has it really been that long?" she asked, though she knew that it had.

"You're welcome back anytime, you know," Neville said. "Gran always liked you…said you reminded her of herself when she was young."

"Is that a compliment?" she said, eyeing his grandmother skeptically.

"No idea," Neville said, laughing at her expression. "I can't imagine gran any younger than fifty-five."

She grinned at that, and they fell into easy conversation, all of the earlier awkwardness behind them. But Ginny never brought up her House, and Neville didn't mention any of her Slytherin friends again.

Half an hour later, they had migrated over to the buffet, and were sitting on one of the endmost tables, their legs dangling and plates of cake balanced on their legs.

"What about them?" Neville asked, pointing surreptitiously at a couple dancing across the floor.

She cocked her head at them for a moment, eyes narrowed. "Friends. He probably likes her, though," she said speculatively.

He nodded thoughtfully. "I think you're right. She seems pretty distracted, but his hand is definitely drifting a little…."

"_Looooow_," she finished, chuckling. "That's not her back, _sir_."

Neville laughed, choking a bit on his cake.

Ginny grinned widely. "All right, all right, get it together," she said with mock-sternness. "Your turn." She scanned the dancers, her eyes falling on a young couple swaying nearby. "Them."

Neville considered for a moment. "Definitely dating," he said decidedly. "Probably…." He reddened, gesturing vaguely.

"Snogging vigorously in broom cupboards everywhere?" she said for him, laughing at his expression. He nodded, smiling broadly.

"Better not be," a deep voice cut in from behind them. Ginny turned. Cedric Diggory was standing behind them, an amused grin on his face.

Cedric and his parents lived less than a mile away from the Burrow. He was the same age as Forge, and had spent a lot of time with them growing up, though she didn't think they had a lot in common. She hadn't spoken to him in years. "Diggory," she said, by way of greeting. "I think the twins are somewhere over…." She looked around, eyes skimming the crowd.

He shook his head. "I've already seen the twins," he said, coming around the buffet table and leaning casually against it. "I'm more interested in why you think my little cousin _Ella_…." He looked pointedly in the direction of the swaying couple. "…is snogging vigorously in broom cupboards. She's staying with us for the summer," he added.

"They're standing awfully close together," Neville said. He held out his hand in a rare show of self-confidence. "Neville Longbottom."

Cedric shook his hand. "I remember," he said. "You won the House Cup for Gryffindor two years ago, didn't you?"

Neville smiled widely. "Yeah," he replied.

"Nice one." He paused. "So you think Ella's managed to hook a boyfriend in the three weeks she's been here?"

"Pretty much," Neville said flatly.

Ginny laughed at Cedric's narrow-eyed expression. "Just what we need, another overprotective older-brother figure."

"Every girl should have one," he replied. "You should know, Ginny." She made a scoffing sound, and he grinned.

"All right," he said, leaning back and folding his arms. "I want a go."

Neville scanned the couples. "Them."

* * *

><p><em>An hour and a half later<em>

"So why aren't you writing to her?" Ginny asked.

"It's too obvious," Cedric protested, laughing.

She rolled her eyes. "Moronic," she murmured.

"I'm going to have to agree with Cedric on this one, Ginny," Neville put in. "Girls don't like it if you're too obvious."

"And which of the three of us is most qualified to discuss what girls do or do not like?" she countered, arching an eyebrow.

"Me," said Cedric flatly, shooting her a grin.

"Him," Neville agreed.

Ginny burst into laughter. "Gits. _Look_," she continued after a pause. "Mysterious and inscrutable works on some girls, but I've met Cho Chang, and she's definitely not the sharpest quill in the pack –"

"Hey!" Cedric cut in. "She's a Ravenclaw!"

"Yes, not a _mind reader_!" she answered. Neville was laughing uncontrollably at their antics now. "Just write her a bloody letter and get it over with."

"And what exactly am I supposed to say in this _letter_?" Cedric asked.

"You can say whatever the hell you want!" she answered. "She probably already likes you anyway. You've got all of _that_ going on." She gestured vaguely in his direction. "The hair, the nose, all of it. It's disgusting."

Neville snorted. "Thanks, Ginny," Cedric said dryly. "You really know how to stroke a bloke's ego."

"One of my many talents," she replied, smirking.

"NEVILLE!" They turned to see Augusta Longbottom gesturing to her grandson.

He sighed. "I've gotta go."

Cedric glanced over to where his parents were gathering their things. "Yeah, I probably have to leave too."

Ginny took a swig of her drink and hopped off the buffet table, a grin on her face. Against all odds, she'd actually had a good time tonight. She supposed this stupid wedding hadn't been a total waste after all.

* * *

><p>She walked aimlessly along the dirt path that connected the neighborhood's houses, her trainers scuffing against the ground and bringing up small dust clouds in her wake. The July air was warm and comfortable, the sun high in the sky, and she squinted down at the letter in her hand, her eyes skimming over Draco's familiar scrawl.<p>

_Weasley –_

_Father has grudgingly agreed to let you join us in our box at the World Cup. You're welcome. I'll have an Elf pick you up from your "house" (note the traditionally skeptical sarcasm with which I use the word) on August 21st. You can stay at the Manor until term starts._

_Oh, and you're going to need something nice to wear. I'm sure you can rustle up a dress if you try hard enough._

_Missing your sharp tongue and lethal glares, Draco_

_P.S. Yes, I have seen Blaise. He's over all the time. And no, he is not exaggerating – he's seduced half the girls in Wiltshire. You can ask him yourself in a month – he's coming to the Cup match with us._

Grinning amusedly, Ginny refolded the parchment and shoved it into the back pocket of her shorts. She would have to confirm the Cup details with her parents later, but she'd already gotten them to agree. They had _not_ looked happy about it, but they'd let Percy go to the World Cup with friends four years ago, and she knew they didn't want a row. These days, they tiptoed around her, her dad keeping stiffly silent and her mum contenting herself with little sounds of disapproval. Ginny suspected, with a feeling in her stomach that was somewhere between smugness and discomfort, that they were a little afraid of her.

She had walked nearly all the way to the Fawcetts' house by now, and she didn't notice the boy sitting casually with his back against the big oak tree at the edge of their garden until she'd nearly stepped on him.

"Ginny?" he said.

"Diggory!" she said, surprised. He set the packet of parchment he had been reading down across his lap and smiled amicably up at her.

"What are you doing all the way out here?" he asked.

"I was just having a walk. You?"

He gestured at the sheets of parchment. "It's such a nice day out – couldn't resist." He paused. "Do you want to sit?"

She hesitated for a moment before sinking down beside him. For some inexplicable reason, being around him without her whole family hanging about felt strange. He'd always been more of a _family_ friend than a personal friend, though she supposed their easy banter at the wedding a few weeks ago had changed that dynamic somewhat.

"So how've you been?" he asked lightly, interrupting her thoughts.

"I've been good," she replied. "You?"

He shrugged, extending his legs out before him. "Summer's summer. I've been getting started on some schoolwork…trying to stay on top of things this year."

She couldn't help smirking with amusement. "That bored?"

He grinned over at her. "Yeah, desperately."

"Me too."

They sat in silence for a moment, and Ginny picked absently at the grass in front of her. Finally, she glanced at the parchment in his lap. "What are you reading?"

"Prefect regulations for the year," he replied, making a face.

She snorted. "You actually read those?"

"Duty calls," he said wryly.

"Doing schoolwork, reading the prefect regulations…. Merlin, Diggory, do you ever do anything McGonagall wouldn't give House points for?" She arched an eyebrow at him teasingly.

He met her gaze, eyes sparkling. "You underestimate me, Ginny Weasley."

She smirked. "But you're so easy to underestimate," she countered cheekily. The words were out of her mouth before she had time to think about them. Her eyes darted to him nervously – any of her brothers would have been mortally offended. But Cedric just laughed aloud, and Ginny grinned. Apparently she _did_ underestimate him.

"I'll have you know," he said, "that Hufflepuffs can be rebellious too, no matter what you _Slytherins_ may think of us."

She regarded him coolly. "Prove it."

He thought for a moment, setting the packet of regulations aside and placing a rock on them. The corners rustled a bit in the breeze. Suddenly, he glanced in the direction of the Fawcetts' house, and he got a pleased gleam in his eye. "Come on."

She followed him across the Fawcetts' front garden, stepping over wandering gnomes until they stood on the lawn behind the house. Cedric was looking up to a broken-down little tree house nestled amongst the branches of one of their tall oaks. She shot him a skeptical look. "That's it?"

"Come on," he said, apparently unperturbed by her cynicism. "I'm breaking you in." He crossed to the oak and began to walk around it, knocking every so often against the wood. "There's an enchanted spot here…somewhere…," he said, by way of explanation. Just then, his knuckles tapped against a knot at eye-level, and a rope ladder dropped down from above. He grinned.

"I think Sally's great grandfather built this…ages ago," Cedric said as he began to climb the ladder. "They're very protective of it. I've only been allowed in once."

Ginny wrapped her fingers around the closest rung and glanced back toward the house. "What'll they do if they catch us breaking in?"

He looked down at her from above, eyebrows raised challengingly. "Not afraid, are you?"

She made a scoffing sound and started up. "Never."

The reached the top of the ladder and climbed over onto the wooden platform that had been constructed under the tree house. A hefty padlock guarded the door. Ginny knelt in front of it, turning it as far as she could to get a look at the back. "Well, it's not an ordinary lock," she said. She glanced up at him. "My brother Bill's a curse breaker…I've picked up a _few_ things."

"Here, let me." He sank down beside her and examined it.

"_Alohomora_'s not going to work, you know," she said, crossing her arms.

He tutted and reached over to pull out one of her hairpins. Her hair cascaded down across her left cheek, and she brushed it back with an impatient movement. "My mum's a Muggle," he said, grinning cheekily. "I've picked up a _few _things." With a few turns and jimmies of the pin, the lock snapped open.

Ginny laughed. "Muggle criminal techniques," she said. "I didn't know you had it in you, Diggory."

"So, go ahead then," he said, folding his arms across his chest and arching an eyebrow at her.

She rolled her eyes, smirking. "Fine. _Hufflepuffs can be rebellious too_."

His face broke into a wide grin, and he opened the tree house door. "After you."

It really was a spectacular tree house, Ginny thought as she lay flat on the wooden floorboards and stared up at the enchanted ceiling. From the outside, it looked like a broken-down little shack, but they had entered to find a wide open space with a loft and cushions and a cabinet filled to the brim with snacks. Above, she could just make out the bright blue sky through the foliage, and somehow a cool breeze was filtering in from outside, though the windows were hardly big enough for that. She sighed contentedly and closed her eyes. Cedric chuckled beside her. This summer was exceeding expectations.

* * *

><p>Pansy made a light mewling sound, and Draco smirked against her lips. He leaned forward, trapping her between his body and the wall, and deepened the kiss, growling appreciatively as her teeth grazed his bottom lip.<p>

They were in one of the Manor's upper drawing rooms. Their parents were socializing downstairs, and Blaise had given Draco a knowing wink before slipping from the room and leaving them alone.

Pansy wrapped her arms around his neck and stretched out against him, making him groan lightly. She giggled, obviously taking the sound for encouragement, and let one of her hands trail down his front, tugging aggressively at his shirt.

He pulled away. "We should stop," he said, stepping back.

"Are you sure?" she asked, looking up at him with what she probably thought was an attractive pout.

He straightened his clothes and smiled. "Your parents are probably looking for you by now, and I don't want to have to answer any questions."

She looked disappointed, but she just smoothed down her dress and ran her fingers through her hair. "All right. I suppose I'll see you on the train, then," she said.

He nodded, and she leaned up to give him one more slow, lingering kiss. "Bye, Draco."

He couldn't help grinning with self-satisfaction as she left the room. He sank down on one of the sofas, stretching his legs out before him. He had had an incredible summer – Pansy had seen to that. All of their clothes had stayed on, despite Pansy's more recent efforts, but they had snogged all over both of their manors, and if practice made perfect…well…. He smirked.

On a sudden impulse, he pulled his wand and held it aloft. Shutting his eyes, he envisioned some of their more…passionate…encounters. "Expecto Patronum," he murmured.

Nothing.

He shrugged. He wasn't sure how much happier his memories could get. Shoving his wand back into his pocket, he stood and made his way out of the room and downstairs. He could hear his parents bidding the Parkinsons farewell in the entrance foyer, and he avoided it, heading toward the kitchens instead.

"Dusty," he said, pushing open the doors. "I need a glass of water. I'm parched."

"I bet you are." He looked up, startled, to see Ginny sitting casually at the wooden table in the center of the room. Blaise was across from her, grinning amusedly.

"Weasley!" he said.

She grinned. "Decided to come up for air?"

"Oh, I bet he came _up_ for something," Blaise put in suggestively.

Ginny snorted, and Draco rolled his eyes. "Fuck you," he replied easily.

"I'm sure Zabini appreciates the offer, but isn't that Pansy's job?" Ginny said, meeting his eyes wickedly. Blaise burst into laughter, and Draco couldn't help smirking.

Dusty appeared from deeper into the kitchen and proffered a tall class of water. Draco took a long sip and returned it before striding over to the table and sinking down to Ginny's right. "So, Weasley, when did you get here?"

"Just now," she answered. "Dusty brought my trunk up to one of the guest rooms, and Blaise here has been telling me all about his summer exploits. It sounds like he's been having an even better time than you."

Draco sat forward and leaned his elbows on the table, running a hand through his mussed hair. "Well don't let him paint you _too_ rosy a picture. Did he tell you about how Pansy's uncle caught him with her cousin and nearly hexed his bits off?"

Ginny laughed, and Blaise shrugged lazily. "Hey, I got her top off first, so I consider it a success."

"Congratulations. Shall we hold a celebratory party?" Ginny asked, eyes sparkling.

Blaise grinned. "No, a trophy will do."

Draco snorted, but his eyes darted from Blaise to Ginny and back again, eyebrows raised ever so slightly. The dynamic between them was different than it had been at the end of last year. He knew Blaise, and he also knew when Blaise was _flirting_.

"So, Malfoy," Ginny said after a moment, cutting off his thoughts. "Are you going to show me around the place or what?"

* * *

><p>The next morning, Draco stood before the mirror in his bedroom, adjusting his tie.<p>

"Ready?" Blaise was leaning casually against his doorframe, his suit jacket slung over his left shoulder and a grin on his face.

Draco shrugged on his own jacket, relishing the perfect fit against his shoulders. He smirked at his reflection and nodded. "Yeah," he replied. They took the stairs two at a time and met Gerald in the foyer.

"Master and Mistress have gone ahead, and they request that you and your friends take the Floo to the World Cup pitch as soon as you are ready. Here is the name of your reception point. There will be ushers waiting to escort you to the Minister's box." He proffered a small sheet of paper.

"Where's Ginny?" Draco said. "I told her to be ready by ten."

Blaise glanced at his wristwatch and shrugged. "Well, you know women," he replied.

Draco snorted. "Ginny's hardly a woman."

"Not far off," Blaise answered, smirking. He looked up toward the staircase, missing Draco's arched eyebrow. "Ah, speak of the devil."

Draco glanced up as Ginny came down the stairs, looking much more…polished than he had ever seen her in a plain black cocktail dress and heels.

"Remind me again why we had to dress up for a Quidditch match," she said testily, tugging at the hem of the dress. "…even if it _is_ the World Cup."

"_Because_," he replied. "We're in the Minister's box."

"And I'm sure you can hazard a guess as to who will be in there with us," Blaise added.

"The _Minister's_ box?" she said, turning to Draco. "I thought you said it was _your_ box."

Draco smirked. "Well my father paid for the construction of all the more expensive seating, so I guess if you really want to split hairs, it _is_ our box."

"I hope he built it large," she answered, grinning cheekily. "There aren't many rooms in Britain big enough to fit me, Zabini, _and_ your giant ego."

Gerald cleared his throat. "I'm sorry to intrude, sir," he said, but in a tone of voice that suggested he wasn't very sorry at all. "But Master and Mistress _did_ say as _soon_ as you are ready."

Draco narrowed his eyes. "And they've also said to _never_ interrupt a conversation," he said harshly. Gerald twitched with annoyance, but he held his tongue under Draco's glare.

"All right, all right, let's go," Blaise said, cutting the tension. "What's the address?" He glanced at the sheet of paper in Draco's hand and stepped into the wide grate to their left. "Quidditch World Cup, Floo Reception Point One," he said loudly, and he gave them one last grin before he was engulfed by green flames.

* * *

><p>The noise from the stadium was deafening, but as soon as they stepped into the Minister's box, the sounds of the masses receded to a low murmur in the background and were replaced by light laughter and the tinkling of champagne glasses.<p>

It was a large box, about half as big as the drawing room of the Manor, with all four walls made of glass to give them a commanding view of the pitch. The teams hadn't been presented yet, but the stands were filled with people and lit by the explosions of thousands of flash bulbs. About forty people were milling around the box, speaking in small groups and occasionally taking champagne flutes or hors d'oeuvres from levitating trays.

Draco saw his parents on the other side of the room and knew he would be expected to greet them. "Come on," he said. Blaise looked thoroughly unimpressed by the box (unsurprising, as Blaise was rarely impressed by anything), but Ginny was obviously awed, though she tried to smother her expression when she saw him looking at her. He smirked, and she rolled her eyes, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

"Draco," his mother said sweetly as he came up to her, her long nails tapping lightly on the glass in her hand. "I'm glad you made it. Your father and I had to leave early – he had business to discuss with the Minister."

"Cornelius," his father said, turning to the portly man on his left. "You've met my son Draco."

The Minister shook Draco's hand jovially. "Yes, yes, of course, though he's growing taller every day." Draco smiled politely.

"And these are his guests," Lucius continued. "Blaise Zabini. I'm sure you're familiar with his mother, Aradia."

"Ah, yes, Aradia. Lovely woman, and you're her spitting image, my boy," Fudge said, shaking Blaise's hand.

"And this," his father said, barely sparing Ginny a glance, "is Ginny…." He paused. "…Weasley."

Fudge's eyebrows went up to his hairline, and then he began to chuckle, his large belly bouncing before him. He took Ginny's hand. "Weasley, you say! And here I had heard some rather _uncomfortable_ rumors, Lucius, that you and Arthur Weasley were in some sort of _feud_!"

His father forced a tight smile. "I wouldn't call it a feud, Cornelius," he said, and Draco was sure the Minister couldn't hear the undertone of annoyance in his voice. "That suggests the existence of two equal players."

Fudge paused for a moment, eyes sparkling, and then he began to laugh harder. "Aha! That's _funny_, Lucius! Well," he continued, slapping Lucius on the back. Draco watched his father's lips purse ever so slightly. "I'm glad to see that the rumors are unfounded. We don't need any unnecessary dissension in the Ministry, do we? Especially not with election year coming up, eh?" The Minister chuckled again, and now the rest of the group joined in.

"Draco, you and your guests may leave now," his father said in an undertone. "Don't make any trouble."

Draco nodded and led Blaise and Ginny away. They settled down on a circle of lounge chairs, and he grabbed two champagne flutes off a passing tray. He handed one to Ginny and took a swig of his own. It tasted sweet on his tongue.

"Alcohol?" she asked.

"No one cares if you're of age or not," he said.

"And it's the best there is," Blaise added, "Though I see I have to get one for myself." He leaned over the back of his chair to grab a flute.

Draco smirked. "She's prettier than you," he quipped. Ginny shot him a look and rolled her eyes.

"Mmm, fair enough," Blaise said, swirling the champagne in his glass and looking Ginny up and down, a cheeky grin on his face. "You do clean up nicely, Weasley. I like the dress."

She glanced down at it. "I had a different one that I wore to a wedding last month, but it was bright yellow. I had a feeling this crowd would prefer something more…."

"Subdued?" Draco supplied.

She smiled and sipped her drink. "Exactly. So I borrowed this one from Diggory. It's his cousin's."

"Diggory, as in 'pretty boy Diggory?'" Blaise asked, arching an eyebrow at her suggestively.

"Don't give me that look," she said. "We're just friends." She paused and took a sip of her drink. "And you're one to call someone 'pretty boy,' Zabini."

Draco's eyebrows went up.

"Was that a compliment, Weasley?" Blaise asked, grinning and leaning closer to her.

She flushed, but didn't bat an eye. "Hardly," she replied, though she was smirking.

Blaise opened his mouth to respond, but just then, Fudge tapped his glass loudly several times. The room quieted. "Attention, everyone! Attention! The match is about to begin. If everyone would like to gather near this window…there should be enough space for everyone at the front. But not yet – first we'll need to lower the…." He broke off and looked around. "Will whoever is in charge of that please lower the glass…?"

A moment later the upper part of the front wall of glass slid down to expose them to the outside air. The lower half remained, keeping anyone from falling from the box and into the stands below, and the room was suddenly bombarded by the normal sounds of the stadium.

Fudge touched his wand to his throat. "Good, good. Now we will be able to have the full World Cup experience, crowd and all! Thank you all for coming to this prestigious event, and you can now…yes, if you'd like to come up now, I believe Mr. Bagman is about to begin his commentary."

With an wide smile, Ginny stood and moved toward the front. As they got out of their seats, Draco turned to Blaise.

"So, want to tell me what exactly you think you're doing, Blaise?" Draco asked, raising his eyebrows at his friend.

Blaise turned. "Hmm?"

"Don't play coy with me," he said. "I know you too well."

Blaise considered that for a moment, then shrugged. "So I'm flirting a little. Have you looked at her? She's growing up."

Draco followed Blaise's gaze to where Ginny had requisitioned a space at the glass. Her hair was flying out behind her, and the breeze was blowing her dress up against her body in a way that confirmed that she _was_, in fact, growing up. She turned and beckoned them over.

"Anyway," Blaise continued. "If we're going to uphold the reputation of our little trio, she needs to practice her flirting technique."

Draco grinned at that. "I don't know, mate. She seems to be pretty good at it already."

Blaise smirked and patted him good-naturedly on the back as they strode over. "All the better."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Sorry for the wait, but things have been very hectic in my life lately. However, I think some _reviews_ would help me manage my stress (*hint hint*) :) Please review and tell me what you think - I read and appreciate every single review!

Question of the chapter: **What song do you think has the most beautiful lyrics?  
><strong>

A tough one, I know, but I think my answer would be "Alexandra Leaving" by Leonard Cohen. As you may have guessed, this question thing is also a way for me to get recommendations of good books, songs, etc., and I'm a sucker for songs with beautiful lyrics :)

Again, please review!


	13. Darkness Looming

**Chapter 13: Darkness Looming**

Draco sat back, draped his arm over the sofa, and took another swig of champagne. Ireland had won by a hair's breadth – the roar from the crowd below had nearly deafened him – and the Minister had quickly re-sealed the box and ordered out new food and drinks for the after-party, which was now in full swing.

"I think we did fantastically," the boy sitting beside Ginny was saying. He was a bulky blonde in a high-end suit named Gabriel Riley, the son of an Irish shipping magnate. He had been flirting – or at least, _trying_ to, Draco thought amusedly – with Ginny for the past half hour. By the look on her face, he wasn't succeeding.

Now he leaned in and nudged her shoulder. "They couldn't even distract us with their Veela whores, did you see that?"

Draco noticed Ginny's brow twitch ever so slightly with irritation, but she kept her face deceptively neutral, biting nonchalantly into a chocolate-covered strawberry.

"Krum's Wronski Feint will go down in the annals, though, don't you think?" she asked sweetly.

Riley's brow furrowed. "Krum is overrated," he answered with a huff.

She took in Riley's annoyance, eyes twinkling with sudden amusement, and Draco rolled his eyes. Ginny hated people of Riley's breed – blokes who couldn't take what they dealt out – and she could never resist pissing them off when the opportunity presented itself. "Bitter about Lynch?" she goaded.

"Why would I be bitter?" Riley replied, reddening. "We won."

"170 to 160," she said with a snort. "Hardly worth bragging about."

Riley glared and stood, obviously flustered. "You should rein in your woman, Malfoy," he spat.

Draco raised his eyebrows. "Couldn't if I tried," he responded easily.

At that, Riley flushed a deeper shade of red and stormed off, muttering something unflattering under his breath.

As soon as he was out of hearing range, Blaise snorted loudly and Ginny dissolved into laughter. "He was _such_ an arse," she said. "_Veela whores_. As if I didn't see him salivating all over the glass when they did their dance."

"He's got a lot of money, though," Blaise put in casually, selecting a mini quiche from a passing tray and popping it into his mouth.

"Good." She took a sip of her drink. "He's going to need it to buy himself a girlfriend…won't get one otherwise."

Draco laughed aloud and had just opened his mouth to reply when he felt a firm hand on his shoulder. "Draco, it's time for you and your guests to leave." He looked up to see his father standing over him, a strangely...happy?...look on his face.

"Is something wrong?" he asked.

His father's lips twitched in what could have been interpreted as a smile. Draco's brow furrowed. "There is nothing wrong," Lucius said firmly. "Take your…friends…." He glanced at Ginny with a hint of distaste. "…to the reception point and Floo back to the Manor immediately."

"But Father…."

Now Lucius's eyes hardened. "_Now_, Draco. Do not make the mistake of questioning me. Floo home – _straight_ home, do you hear me?"

Draco swallowed his protest, clamping his lips shut in a tight line, and stood. He led Ginny and Blaise out of the box and down the winding stairs leading to ground level.

"What was that about?" Blaise asked.

"Not sure," he said distractedly. He was still turning the memory of his father's expression over in his mind. "But we should go back to the Manor, I suppose."

Ginny furrowed her brow at him. "What's wrong?" she asked flatly.

He shook his head, unsure what to say.

"It _is_ a bit of a waste to be leaving early, isn't it?" Blaise put in after a moment.

Well, that certainly made more sense than his half-formed questions about how his father had been acting. He brushed those thoughts out of his mind. "Yeah," he agreed.

Ginny looked thoroughly unconvinced, and Draco shook himself and met her eyes. After a few seconds of regarding him skeptically, she grinned. "Well it doesn't have to be a total waste," she said brightly, looping her arm casually through his as they came to the bottom of the stairs and stepped onto the grass. Tents and bonfires stretched out before them, and wizards and witches in various states of inebriation were wandering around, laughing loudly. "You two were the only tolerable company in that whole party anyway."

"Flattered, Weasley," Draco replied, smiling.

"So how's this?" she continued, getting an adventurous twinkle in her eye. "We go around the back to where they're making all the party food, nick a couple bottles of champagne and Firewhiskey, take them back to your place, and continue the party there?"

Blaise laughed. "I don't know about you, Malfoy," he said. "But I like the way she thinks."

"All right, then," Draco said, grinning widely now. "Let's go." They wound their way around the base of the stadium, Ginny regularly cursing her heels when they sank into the mud, until finally they reached the private kitchen tent that catered to the Minister's box.

"_Shh_," she said, peering around the doorway at the elves bustling around inside. "There are two _very_ serious-looking guards just around the corner."

"It hardly matters, Gin," Draco said, smirking. "My dad paid for all of this. Probably paying their salaries, too."

She shot him a cheeky look over her shoulder. "Where's your sense of adventure, you rich prat?"

Blaise chuckled, and she drew her wand. Draco knew she wouldn't get in trouble for using it; there were far too many wizards in the area for the Ministry to get an accurate reading on underage magic. And anyway, he'd bet his broom that there had already been hundreds of violations tonight.

"Hang on, I have an idea…." Pointing her wand at a platter heaped high with pastries, she murmured a spell. A small cake levitated upward and floated off in the opposite direction. The guards looked at each other stupidly (Draco was forcibly reminded of Crabbe and Goyle) and lumbered off after it, brows furrowed with obvious confusion.

Ginny smirked. "_Accio_ _champagne. Accio Firewhiskey_," she whispered, and a moment later, a case of whiskey and a bottle of champagne flew out of the tent. The guards, peering out the other side of the tent, didn't even notice.

Blaise grabbed the case, Draco took the bottle, and they doubled back toward the Floo reception point. "That was almost too easy," Ginny said speculatively. "You should hire better security, Malfoy."

"And _you_ should consider a life of crime," he replied.

"Who says I'm not?" she answered. "In any case, now we can go back and drink these without any pretentious gits…."

"…trying to get into your knickers?" Blaise finished.

Ginny snorted. "Exactly."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that, Ginny," Blaise replied, arching an eyebrow at her suggestively.

She smirked. "Well, without any pretentious gits who have a shot, anyway."

Draco burst into laughter, and Blaise nudged her arm good-naturedly. "Touche, Weasley."

"You know," she said after a moment, glancing at the case in Blaise's hands. "I've never actually had a Firewhiskey before. My mum wouldn't let any of us near the –"

She was cut off by a piercing scream that ripped across the grounds, and they froze. Draco watched Ginny's eyes go wide and dart to his, and they were suspended, staring at each other uncertainly, for what felt like a full five seconds before they were pulled back to reality by the sudden chaos of panicked yells and movement that filled the air around them.

"RUN!" A wizard in his bathrobe darted past them, yanking his wife behind him by the hand, and before Draco could quite process what was happening, they were engulfed by a whirlwind of bodies, all frantically trying to escape whatever was happening a hundred yards away.

Shrieks and cries filled his ears, and Draco grabbed for Ginny's hand, the bottle of champagne falling forgotten to the ground, just as a tent next to the nearest entrance to the stadium went up in flames. He could make out several shapes bouncing high in the air beside the tent, and then he saw the figures who were pointing their wands, cackling gleefully as the fire cast eerie shadows on their black cloaks. One of the figures turned, and Draco's heart nearly stopped. He recognized the mask that the figure was wearing – when he was six, he had discovered one just like it, buried deep in a box at the back of his father's closet. It was the mask of the Dark Lord's Death Eaters.

"What are they doing?" Ginny whispered from beside him, her voice threaded with fear.

"Torturing Muggles," he replied flatly, suddenly realizing just how much danger they were all in. It was going to be an ugly riot, and in the heat of the moment, being a former Death Eater's son was unlikely to save him…not to mention Ginny, who was a member of the most despised blood traitor family in existence. "Come on." Some of the Death Eaters had detached themselves from the group and were coming toward them, wands raised. The screams around them intensified. He threaded his fingers through Ginny's, and he saw her reach out to clasp Blaise's hand. They started weaving between tents and around yelling people.

The reception point had just come into sight when someone slammed into him from behind and he fell to the ground. Ginny's hand slipped from his grip. He groaned, feeling a sharp pain in his back, and he shook himself, seeing stars. But they began to recede quickly, and he pushed himself onto his hands and knees and finally upright, glancing around. Ginny and Blaise were no where to be seen, and his heart began to pound in his ears as his eyes darted around him, trying to find them amongst the whirl of fleeing people that surrounded him.

"GINNY! BLAISE!" he yelled. He waited, straining to hear a response. Finally….

"Draco! Here!" His head whipped around, and he saw Blaise coming toward him.

"What happened? Are you all right? Where's Ginny?"

Blaise shook his head. "I don't know. When you went down, I tripped, and she got lost in the crowd."

"_Fuck_," Draco swore. "I'll find her. You go back to the Manor, all right?" Blaise nodded and moved away, and Draco turned back to scan the milieu. It was chaos – he couldn't see anything. If Ginny had fallen and hit her head, she would have been trampled to death by now.

Just as that less-than-reassuring thought crossed his mind, he saw a flash of copper hair near the clustering of trees fifty yards away. He took off toward it.

"Ginny?" he called loudly when he reached the edge of the trees. He moved into the darkness – it was quieter here, with the trees blocking out the sounds from beyond. "Ginny, where the _fuck_ are you?"

He rounded a tall pine and saw her standing in the middle of a clearing with her back to him. He exhaled with relief and strode toward her, hand outstretched to take hers. "Weasley, thank Merlin. Come on, we have to –"

She turned sharply to look at him, a warning in her eyes, and he realized – too late – that she wasn't alone. He stopped dead in his tracks.

"Ah, _Weasley_, is it?" Draco looked past her to the person who had spoken – a tall man, swathed in a black cloak, his voice eerily muffled by the shining Death Eater's mask that hid his face. "I should have known…there are very few families in Britain with hair that garish."

A litany of curse words raced through Draco's mind. He had exposed who Ginny was, and now the Death Eater was advancing, his long, tapered fingers toying with his wand. _Concentrate, concentrate_….This Death Eater didn't seem to recognize him, but it was worth a try….

"You _don't_ want to come any closer," he said, pushing the words out from behind gritted teeth to keep his voice from wavering. "Weasley is with me, and I'm Lucius Malfoy's son."

The Death Eater hesitated for a moment, but then he began to laugh, a harsh, throaty sound, as if he had something lodged in his throat. Draco's heart sank. "I don't give a dragon's arse who you are, you fucking twit," the Death Eater said. "If you associate with a blood traitor, that makes you a blood traitor, and that makes _me_ the man who strung up _two_ traitors in one go, doesn't it?"

"I'm warning you," Draco said, refusing to take his eyes off the mask. He was _not_ going to show fear. "If you harm us, I promise you, it'll be your head on a platter come morning."

The Death Eater laughed again. "I think I'll take my chances." Draco began reaching slowly around his back. His wand was in his back pocket. If he could just…. "Don't even try it!" the Death Eater snapped, raising his own wand and pointing it directly at Draco's chest. Draco dropped his hand.

"There, that's it," the Death Eater continued, and Draco could almost _hear_ him smirking. "If there's one thing we need to teach you traitors, it's obedience. You and your girlfriend are both going to learn a little _obedience_ tonight. Tell me, have you ever been on the receiving end of the _Cruciatus_ curse, you little piece of –"

"_STUPEFY!_"

A jet of light flew straight at the Death Eater and slammed into his chest, sending him flying five feet back through the air. He collided with a tree, his back crunching rather sickeningly, and he slumped down, unconscious. Draco's eyes darted to Ginny, whose wand was raised, her brow furrowed in concentration and her eyes blazing. She was breathing hard, her chest rising and falling rapidly, and her cheeks were flushed.

They stood in silence for a moment, her eyes trained on the Death Eater's body, but finally she turned to face him. "Let's go," she breathed.

He nodded. "Wait," he said as she moved toward him. He crossed the clearing and bent down, fingers poised to lift the Death Eater's mask.

"What are you doing?" Ginny asked.

"I want to see who it is," he replied, and the venom in his own voice surprised him. "I made him a promise that his head would be on a platter."

"Leave him," she replied sharply. He looked up, meeting her eyes. They had none of their usual warmth, just cold, hard determination. "He'll probably have trouble walking for the next few months," she said flatly. "Punishment enough. Let's get out of here."

Draco hesitated. He realized, with a jolt of vengefulness that he hadn't known he possessed, that he wanted the man to suffer for his threats. But Ginny held his gaze, and finally, he let his fingers slip from the mask and stood. She held out her hand and he took it. "Is Blaise –" she began as they moved toward the edge of the trees.

"Back at the Manor by now," Draco replied. She nodded shortly.

They kept their wands out as they emerged back onto the open grounds. It was still as chaotic as before, and they threaded through the crowd until they reached the reception point. "You first," Draco said, practically pushing Ginny into the make-shift grate that the Ministry had set up. "I'm right behind you."

She grabbed a handful of powder, murmured "Malfoy Manor," and was gone.

Draco stepped in, sifting the powder between his fingers. "Malfoy Manor," he said, thrusting the powder to his feet. And just as the green flames burst into life around him, the sky above the stadium lit up a blinding shade of green, and in the last second before he was pulled away from the screams and cackles and danger, his eyes made out the symbol emblazoned across the sky.

A skull, holes for the eyes and nose gaping into blackness, and a writhing snake protruding from its mouth.

The Dark Mark.

* * *

><p><em>A few hours later, about three o'clock in the morning<em>

Draco stared up at the canopy of his bed, unable to sleep, his brain replaying the night's events over and over again. The house was quiet. Blaise had gone home, and Ginny was in the guest bedroom a few doors down. His parents hadn't come home yet, but he wasn't worried about them – his father's bloody Death Eater mask would be protection enough.

As soon as the Floo had ejected him into the foyer, he had stormed straight into his parents' bedroom, thrown open his father's closet, dragged the box into the center of the room, and dug deep into it. The mask had been gone.

Ginny had stood over his shoulder, a confused look on her face, but Draco had just replaced the box, lips set in a hard line. Now he understood his father's strange expression – it had been excitement…anticipation. The missing mask was all the confirmation he needed.

With an irritated groan, Draco sat up and pulled off the covers. He was staring straight into the darkness of his room, heart hammering in his chest with a mixture of frustration and residual adrenaline, when there was a crash from downstairs. It was followed by his mother's shriek of protest, an angry growl, a low response. Finally the slamming of a door cut off the noise, plunging Draco back into the silence of his room.

After a few seconds, he got out of bed and grabbed his pajama top from where he'd draped it over the back of the sofa. Shrugging it on, he walked out into the hall, the bottoms of his trouser legs making a sweeping sound against the floor. He made his way down the staircase, and by the time he reached the bottom, he could hear angry voices coming from the library. A thin band of light protruded from beneath the door, and as he approached, the words became clearer.

His father: "–want to know who the _hell_ cast that spell! That was _not_ part of the plan!"

"Lucius, calm down…." His mother's voice was pleading.

"Shut up, Narcissa!" his father hissed. "It was supposed to be a small riot to stretch our muscles, show Fudge and his useless cronies that they're not as powerful as they think, have a bit of fun. It was _not_ supposed to get out of control! Now I want to know who the _fuck_ cast the Dark Mark!"

"The Ministry has pinned it on Crouch's elf," said another male voice – one that Draco didn't recognize.

"And we all know no House-elf would have the audacity or the ability to cast _Morsmordre_," his father snapped.

"Does it even matter that the Dark Mark was cast?" the other man said. "The Ministry has its tail between its legs, and we had our fun with minimal injuries…just a few of us stunned and Dolohov's back…."

Draco exhaled – so it had been Antonin Dolohov in the clearing.

"And we still don't know who did that?" his mother murmured.

"No, and Dolohov's still unconscious. He hit that tree at an awful angle. He's lucky it –"

"_Of course it matters that the Mark was cast_," his father cut in, voice rising. "_Someone_ is willing to take this much further than we are…someone is trying to _bring him back_, don't you see? And how do you think his return would play out for _us_? We've done very well since his fall, you _idiots_."

"Lucius…." His mother's voice was a frightened whisper. "You don't think…."

"The mark on my arm has been _burning_, Narcissa. Everyone's mark has been burning. There's something going on that we don't know about, and someone at the Cup tonight is behind it…."

Draco found himself slowly backing away from the room, unwilling to hear anymore. He had never heard his father sound so panicked, and he heard his words over and over again in his mind as he retreated back upstairs: _Someone is trying to bring him back, don't you see?_..._We've done very well since his fall, you idiots._

"Draco?"

He started and turned to see Ginny standing in the doorway of her room, clad in an oversized t-shirt and checkered pajama bottoms, her hair shining in the flickering light emanating from her fireplace. A piece of parchment was clutched in her left hand.

"Are you all right?" she asked. "I heard you go downstairs just now. You look…." She didn't finish, but he could tell by the way that her eyes raked concernedly over his face that he must be white as a sheet.

"I'm fine," he replied shortly, shaking himself. "I –"

Just then, a door slammed downstairs and loud footsteps, accompanied by some discontented muttering, filtered up from below. The footsteps were coming closer – probably just the unidentified guest crossing to the Floo in the foyer – but Draco met Ginny's eyes and stepped into her room. She closed the door behind him.

He looked around the room. The fire was high in the grate, casting shadows across the room. The bed sheets were rumpled as if she, too, had tried in vain to fall asleep, and her trunk lay open at the foot of the bed, her black dress hanging over the edge.

"What were you going to say?" she asked after a moment.

He shook his head and turned to face her. "Nothing." He glanced down to the parchment in her hand. "What's that?"

"Letter from my mum," she said. "Got it fifteen minutes ago." She held it out to him and he took it, eyes skimming the writing.

"_Ginny – are you all right? Death Eaters started a riot at the World Cup, and they were targeting muggles, muggleborns, and blood traitors. You are to come home __immediately__ – we believe Lucius Malfoy was involved, and you are not safe in that house._

_We hope this is proof enough that your father and I were right about the Malfoys. I repeat, come home __immediately__, young lady. I'm not joking._"

Draco's eyebrows went up to his hairline, and he met Ginny's eyes. "What did you say?" he asked neutrally.

She made a mirthless sound and crossed to the desk. Only then did Draco notice the elderly-looking owl perched on the windowsill, waiting to carry back her response. Ginny held out another sheet. "I was just about to send it."

"_Mother – I am perfectly fine, thanks to Draco. I am not coming home. And I'm not joking either._"

He knew this really wasn't the time, but Draco couldn't help smirking as he handed back the note. "I bet she'll love that."

Ginny shrugged and smiled, though it didn't reach her eyes. She folded the sheet and gave it to her family's owl, who flew off into the night. She shut the window and turned back to look at him.

They stood in silence for a moment, and then she raised her eyebrows just a smidgen, and he read the question in her eyes and sobered immediately.

"Your mum was right," he said shortly. "He was one of them."

He didn't know what he expected. Maybe for her fly into one of her famous rages or to make some snarky comment about the cowardice of people who would hide behind masks, but she just nodded slowly, holding his gaze, and after a moment, she smiled ever-so-slightly. "Well, I always hated him anyway," she said lightly. "It's cold in here," she added. She walked over to the fireplace and sank down on the floor before it, her back resting against the front of the sofa and her knees pulled up to her chest.

Puzzled, Draco crossed the room and sank down beside her, his thigh brushing against hers. He rested his forearms on his knees and clasped his hands.

"They weren't going to kill anyone," he said softly, suddenly feeling the need to explain.

She snorted and arched an eyebrow at him. "They are called _Death_ Eaters, you know."

He rolled his eyes. "Just a scary name. They don't want muggleborns dead…just…." He trailed off, searching for the right words. "…in their place," he finished finally. The words even sounded lame to his own ears, but somehow he felt obligated to defend his father's actions.

Her eyes flashed, and she opened her mouth to retort, but then, quite suddenly, she pushed her lips together in a tight line. "Let's not talk about this…," she said quietly.

"Ginny, if you're angry, then we should –"

"I'm not angry," she said, and now her voice sounded strangely flat and detached. She met his eyes. "I honestly don't care what your parents do, how my parents react…. I don't care about any of it. It has nothing to do with us, anyway."

Draco's brow furrowed, but he held his tongue, and after a moment she turned back to stare at the fire. "So are you going to show me around the grounds tomorrow?" she asked suddenly.

He stared at her profile, trying to figure out what was going through her mind, until she turned back to look at him, a forced smile on her face and her eyebrows raised. He nodded. "Sure."

Her smile widened. "Good," she said, leaning her head against his shoulder. Instinctively, he repositioned them so that his arm was around her and she was nestled against his chest, his chin resting on the top of her head.

They fell into easy conversation, and slowly, Ginny's eyes dropped lower and lower until she was asleep, her chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm. Draco stared into the fire for several more minutes, mind full of thoughts.

The hard ball of fear that developed in the pit of his stomach at the thought of the Dark Lord's return puzzled him. His parents had always said that the Dark Lord they had followed had been a man of vision – vision in a time of magical decline and the power to bring his vision to fruition. But as sleep overtook him, Draco dreamed instead of the dank Chamber and the sixteen-year-old boy with the black eyes and the cruel smile who had tried to kill him and the girl in his arms.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> There - that was a pretty quick update, right? I've spent hours writing this today and procrastinating on my piles and piles of schoolwork, _ugh_. Please make my procrastination worthwhile by REVIEWING - you guys and your lovely reviews really helped me get through the end of last week, so thank you for that :)

Question of the chapter: **What is your favorite movie?**

Love you all! Please review!


	14. Dragons by Moonlight

**Chapter 14: Dragons by Moonlight**

Ginny lay on the sofa in Draco's room, her head on the armrest and her legs draped across his thighs. "Knight to C5," she said lazily, glancing sidelong at the chessboard on the coffee table as her piece moved.

"Poor move, Weasley," Draco commented. "Rook to F3."

"Your board is putting me off my game," she said. "So well-mannered. I've never seen chess pieces get shattered in such resigned silence." She grinned at him. "Did you buy them this way or did you have to shove a stick up their bums after the fact?"

"Bought them that way," he replied, smirking. "Don't tell me. You prefer the ones that yell and screech."

She nodded. "You haven't really played chess until your queen's called you a moronic bint."

He snorted. "Typical."

She laughed and aimed a light kick at his stomach.

From behind her, she heard the clatter of his younger House-elf bringing up their dinner trays, and a moment later there was a soft knock on the door.

"Just leave them on the desk, will you, Dusty?" Draco called, not looking up. The door opened and closed, and the room was filled with the mouth-watering smell of some kind of meat dish. Ginny stood and strode across the room.

"Private dinner service again?" she asked lightly, eyes flicking to the back of Draco's head. He turned and met her gaze, then looked away, but not quite quickly enough to hide the sheepishness in his expression.

"Yeah, can you bring my plate over as well?" he asked shortly.

She smirked as she brought their plates over and settled herself cross-legged beside him. It was the last night before the start of term, and Draco had had the House-elves bring their dinners upstairs every night since the World Cup – she knew he was trying to keep her away from his parents. He honestly needn't have bothered. She wasn't going to launch into some angry tirade about the Death Eater riot – she had meant what she'd said to him that night. If Lucius Malfoy wanted to run around with a mask on and torture muggles, what did it matter to her, anyway? And if her parents wanted to hold ancient grudges, that wasn't her business either. She was finally happy, had finally adapted to being sorted into Slytherin, and if she got involved in conflicts beyond her control, things might start to fall apart.

She wasn't going to let that happen.

"Hey," he said, cutting into his steak and looking speculatively at the pink center. "It's your move, Weasley."

* * *

><p><em>The next day<em>

"I wonder who it'll be, then," Pansy said. The Express was barreling through the countryside, and Ginny looked away from the window, arching an eyebrow in Pansy's direction.

"What are you talking about?"

"You know," Pansy replied. "The event that's happening this year." Draco's head was resting in her lap, and she wound her fingers through his hair, eyes sparkling smugly. Ginny resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Parkinson seemed to be under the impression that flaunting her…relationship…with Draco was making Ginny jealous. It wasn't.

"What event?" Ginny asked.

"Doesn't your dad work at the Ministry?" Pansy asked sweetly.

"Yeah, yeah," she said impatiently, nudging Blaise, who was sitting beside her, on the shoulder. He passed her his drink and she took a swig before handing it back. "He's not high up enough and so on and whatever else…get to the point, will you?" She raised her eyebrows expectantly. Draco snorted, and Pansy glared at him.

"I mean, it _is_ pretty important. He must have a really irrelevant job if they're not even…."

"Merlin, Parkinson," Draco cut in, stretching a bit before settling his head back in her lap. "You get to the point about as quickly as a one-legged niffler." He turned to meet Ginny's eyes. "The Triwizard Tournament – Hogwarts is hosting this year."

Ginny's eyebrows went up to her hairline, though this didn't seem to be news to anyone else in the compartment. "What's the age requirement?"

"Why, Weasley?" Blaise asked, grinning. "Thinking about putting your name in?"

"Hardly," she replied, shooting him a smirk. "Why do I need fame and fortune when I already have you, isn't that right?"

"Exactly." He draped an arm casually around the back of the seat, and she leaned back, letting his arm cushion her neck.

"And what am I, minced meat?" Draco asked, rolling his eyes at them, and Ginny laughed. "The age requirement is seventeen. Though Dumbledore will probably find a way to let Potter compete," he added derisively.

"What _would_ Potter do if he wasn't the center of attention?" Blaise put in, smirking. Pansy giggled, and Ginny shook her head. They could never resist a dig at Harry…old habits died hard, she supposed.

Just then, there was a short rap, and the compartment door slid open. She looked up to see Cedric standing in the doorway. He was already in his robes, his Prefect's badge shining from his lapel. "Sorry to interrupt," he said, smiling good-naturedly. "Ginny, do you have a second?"

"Sure, Cedric," she said, following him out into the train corridor. She was acutely aware that everyone in the compartment was staring – Parkinson's mouth was even hanging open a little – and she shot them all a sardonic look over her shoulder as the door slid shut.

"Looks like I've caused a…stir?" he said, nodding behind her to where everyone in her compartment was still staring at them through the small window in the door.

Ginny snorted. "Don't mind them. They've never seen a Hufflepuff before." Cedric laughed aloud. "So, what's up?" she asked, folding her arms and leaning back against the door as the train jostled along.

"Well, I followed your advice," he said, grinning down at her. "Wrote Cho a letter a week ago."

"Really?" she asked. "What'd you say?"

"Lots of cheesy things," he said, somewhat sheepishly. "You don't want to know the details."

"Are you kidding? Of course I do."

"Well, I don't want to tell you, then," he countered. "You won't appreciate the poetic beauty of it."

She snorted. "Well, as long as you didn't write an _actual_ poem…." She trailed off at his expression. "Ced, you _didn't_."

His face broke into a wide grin. "Of course not! What do you take me for? I just said I'd been thinking about her a lot this summer, and I told her I couldn't believe it took me until the end of last year to realize how pretty she is."

Ginny burst into laughter. "You're right, that's incredibly cheesy," she said. "I assume it worked like a charm?"

"Date to Hogsmeade," he said, unable to keep the self-satisfaction out of his voice.

"Well done, lover boy," she replied, smiling.

"So I just wanted to tell you that you were right after all. Mysterious and inscrutable works on some girls…."

"But not on Cho Chang," she finished, smirking at him. "Can we agree that I'm the most qualified to discuss what girls do and do not like, then?"

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," he quipped cheekily.

She grinned.

"Well, I'll let you get back to your friends," he said. Ginny nodded and turned, pulling her compartment door back open. As she crossed the threshold she had a thought.

"Oh, Cedric," she said, and he turned back to look at her, eyebrows raised. "I have your cousin's dress in my trunk. I'll get it back to you this week, all right?"

He shrugged. "No rush. She has plenty of dresses."

"Somehow I don't think she'll see it that way."

"All right, just find me at some point, then." He lifted a hand in casual farewell and loped back down the corridor. Ginny smiled, shaking her head as she sank into her seat.

She looked up to see everyone staring at her. "What?" she asked, eyes fixing on Draco. He just smirked and looked back toward the ceiling without comment.

"So, Weasley, how's pretty boy?" Blaise asked, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

"Don't start," she said, rolling her eyes. "Just friends."

"Well, he _is_ pretty good-looking," Blaise continued. He turned suddenly to Pansy. "Even Parkinson said so…ages ago. Isn't that right, Pansy?"

Pansy looked caught off guard, and she blinked. "I didn't know you…knew him, Weasley," she said.

"We're neighbors."

"Ah." Pansy seemed to recover herself, rearranging her features into the usual superior expression she wore when speaking to Ginny. "That's too bad," she said finally. "I thought his family was better off than that."

The dig was lame, and Ginny didn't even bother responding to it. She turned to Blaise instead. "Can I have one of your chocolate frogs?"

* * *

><p>"Warrington's going to try for it," Bridget said, nodding down the table to where Warrington was making loud claims that he would win and use the prize-money to buy a custom-made Nimbus and a personal House-elf.<p>

The Great Hall was louder than usual – Dumbledore had just announced the Triwizard Tournament, and the news had set the room abuzz with excitement. Rachel craned her neck, surveying Warrington speculatively. "Not good-looking enough," she concluded finally.

"Unfortunately, I don't think the Goblet of Fire is going to ask for headshots," Ginny commented, taking a swig of pumpkin juice and grinning amusedly.

"It should," Bridget put in. "You _know_ that Durmstrang will have Krum, and I've heard there are part-Veela at Beauxbatons."

"So what?" Flora said. "It's not a beauty contest."

"I suppose not," Bridget agreed. "But imagine the press photos – Victor Krum, a Veela, and some God-awful dolt with an underbite like Warrington. We'd never live it down."

Ginny laughed and took a bite of her potatoes. She'd decided to have dinner with the other girls from her year, and now she caught Draco's eye down the table. He winked, and she grinned back.

"Did you get our last letter?" Hestia asked.

She turned and shook her head. "I was staying at Malfoy's for the last few days," she replied. "Maybe –"

"You were _staying at Malfoy's_?" Rachel cut in suddenly. She leaned forward eagerly, eyes sparkling.

Ginny smirked and rolled her eyes. "Trust me, there's no story there." She turned back to Hestia. "Maybe your bird couldn't find me?"

Flora groaned, nudging her sister's arm. "I _told_ you your bird was stupid."

Hestia snorted. "No better than yours."

"There's no way either of them is stupider than mine," Ginny put in, thinking of Errol.

Hestia grinned, then waved her hand dismissively. "Anyway," she said. "It wasn't anything important. We just wanted to know if you'd gotten a –"

There was a sharp tap on Ginny's shoulder, and she turned to see Ron standing behind her, his face flushed the particular shade of red that only _he _could manage and his arms folded across his chest. He looked angry, and Ginny immediately felt her heckles rise with defensiveness. She knew what this was about.

But she just raised her eyebrows at him, setting her cup down with a deliberate clink. "Yes?"

"'_Yes_?'" he repeated incredulously. "'_Yes_?'"

She sighed. "Sorry, Ron, but you're going to have to be a little more articulate than that."

His jaw clenched. "That's all you have to say for yourself?" he said through gritted teeth. "You put Mum and Dad through _hell_, and all I get is a '_yes_'? Fred and George said I shouldn't even bother coming over, but I thought you'd at least be a _little_ apologetic –"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Ron. Calm down. You're going to give yourself an aneurysm."

This only infuriated him further. "Mum was hysterical when you wouldn't come home!" he said, voice rising with each word.

"I was staying at Draco's, which she had agreed to beforehand, and I sent her a letter telling her I was perfectly safe," she replied, working to keep her voice calm. She could feel her own anger constricting her chest. What the _hell_ did he think he was doing – confronting her in front of the whole bloody school?

"Dad nearly Apparated over to get you," he continued over her. "And do you even realize how _dangerous_ that could have been for him?"

"I don't know what you're talking about – if Dad had wanted to come see for himself, he wouldn't have been in any danger at all –"

"_Merlin_, Ginny! Get a grip!" Ron cut in. His yell shocked her, and her simmering anger hardened into a ball at the base of her stomach. "You were at the _Malfoy's_. Of _course_ he would have been in danger! Your precious _friend's_ –" He glared down the table to Draco. "– father was torturing muggles that night!"

"Ron…," she said warningly.

"He's a bloody _Death Eater_!" Ron finished, practically panting with fury.

She pushed away from the table to face him head-on, eyes blazing. When she spoke, her voice was low and hard as flint. "You should be careful what accusations you throw around in public places, Ron."

He snorted. "Worried about your best friend's reputation, are you? I wouldn't bother – he's probably _proud_ of his dear old dad for nearly getting Harry sent to Azkaban. Probably had a good laugh about it afterward, the bloody coward."

There was a sharp sound from down the table. "You might want to shut your mouth right about now, Weasley." Ginny didn't take her eyes off Ron, but she knew without looking that Blaise had stood as well.

She realized suddenly that the entire hall was dead quiet. You could have heard a pin drop.

"You don't know what the _hell_ you're talking about," she spat finally, meeting Ron's eyes. "If Mum and Dad have something to say to me, they can write me themselves." She paused and swallowed down a jolt of anger. She was _not_ going to raise her voice. "And if you _ever_ insult my friends like that again, I will hex you into next week, brother or not. I've done it before, and I'll do it again."

And with that, she stepped past him and strode out of the hall, which was stunned to silence.

She stormed through the corridors, finally spotting an open classroom door and throwing herself over the threshold, slamming the door behind her. She was fuming, and she paced the empty room. She ran a frustrated hand through her hair. Ron was _such_ an arse – he only ever spoke to her when he had something to yell about. And her _parents_ – they only cared what she did when it confirmed their own prejudices. They were probably desperate for something horrible to happen to her so that they could say "I told you so" and –

She heard footsteps in the hall outside, followed by low murmurs – coming closer – that she recognized immediately as Draco and Blaise. They must have followed her out of the Great Hall.

The voices came closer until she knew they were standing just outside the door.

"Where the hell did she go?" Blaise said.

"No idea. I could have sworn I saw her turn down here…."

"What just _happened_ in there?"

"Just Githead being his usual insensitive self. Nothing out of the ordinary," Draco replied dryly. Ginny's lips twitched in amusement.

"Well, it was definitely some show," Blaise said.

"That _might_ not be the best thing to say when we find her."

"What? That bit about having hexed him before – bet that stung. Did you see his face as she left?"

"Of course I did," Draco said, sounding amused himself now. "I'm going to picture it next time I try to make a Patronus."

Blaise laughed, and Ginny, suddenly feeling much calmer than she had two minutes earlier, pulled open the classroom door. "I'm right here, you idiots," she said,

"Weasley!" Blaise said brightly, walking past her into the classroom. "Good show in there."

Draco rolled his eyes. "What did I _just_ say?"

Blaise shrugged, grinning, and crossed the room to sit on the edge of the professor's desk.

Draco sank into one of the desk chairs. "So I think I can safely say that your brother has once again made a complete arse out of himself. He can always be relied upon to remind us all that he's a tactless moron, can't he?"

Ginny snorted. "Like clockwork."

"You know," he continued thoughtfully. "I appreciate you two jumping to my defense…very touching." Blaise shot Ginny a significant look, and she rolled her eyes, smiling now. "But I rather wish you'd let him continue, Gin. A few more minutes and his head might have exploded."

Blaise laughed aloud at that.

"Unfortunately," Ginny said, settling herself atop the desk Draco was sitting in. He leaned forward on one elbow, putting his other hand lightly on the small of her back. "I think that was probably unlikely to happen."

"Come on, Weasley," Blaise replied. "Leave us our dreams, will you?"

"I only want you to face facts," she said jokingly. "We'll probably be stuck with my git brother for a long time yet."

"Well, keep putting him down like that," he answered, "and he'll probably learn sooner or later."

"Emphasis on the probably," Draco said. "He's shown a really spectacular aversion to common sense over the years."

* * *

><p><em>About two months later<em>

"_Support CEDRIC DIGGORY – the REAL Hogwarts Champion!"_ Ginny turned the badge over in her hand, and the letters flashed and rearranged themselves. _"POTTER STINKS!"_

She rolled her eyes and tossed it across the room. It bounced off the edge of the bin before falling inside with a clunk. She gathered the papers strewn before her on the bed and shoved them into her book bag. Cedric's cousin's dress caught her eye – the edge of it was just visible among the clothes in her trunk – and she folded it into her bag too. She'd bring it to him on her way back from the library.

Blaise was sprawled across a sofa near the foot of the stairs, reading his Charms textbook, which he was levitating above his head.

"I'm going to the library," she said. "Want to come?"

He glanced up at her, and with his concentration broken, his book fell toward him. He caught it easily. "Bad idea," he replied. "Pince hates me."

"To be fair," Ginny replied, grinning. "She only hates you because she caught you snogging your witch of the week in the Muggle Studies section."

"I always knew there must be _some_ use for that section," he quipped, smirking.

"Where's Malfoy?" she asked, glancing around the Common Room.

He waved his hand. "Oh, Parkinson dragged him off."

"The usual, then?"

He laughed. "Mmm, broom cupboard on the third floor."

"Lovely. All right, well I'm off," she said. "The library awaits."

"At _least_ try to get some snogging done while you're there, will you?" he replied.

She snorted and ruffled his hair a bit where it was hanging over the edge of the armrest. "I'll do my very best."

She made her way through the corridors, her book bag slung heavily over her shoulder. Those stupid badges gleamed off the lapels of many of the students she passed. The words "_POTTER STINKS!_" flashed in her face over and over again as she drew closer to the library.

She sighed. Her very public altercation with Ron the first night back had been the school's biggest piece of gossip until the arrival of the students from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons a few weeks back. Then Victor Krum and the beautiful quarter-Veela – Ginny had heard her name was Fleur – had been all anyone talked about…until the Goblet of Fire had selected a fourth champion for the first time in Triwizard history: Harry Potter.

And now these ridiculous badges. Most of Slytherin was wearing them, but Ginny knew it was a waste of time. If anyone had bothered to pay the least bit of attention to Harry's expression when his name had been called, they would be just as sure as she was that he had had nothing to do with his name being in that goblet. He had looked completely bewildered and _scared _– hardly the look of a boy whose plan to get attention had succeeded.

Lost in her thoughts, she didn't notice the door open in front of her until it was too late, and she ran straight into the broad-chested man that exited.

"Ginny!"

She looked up mid-apology and found herself face to face with her brother.

"Charlie!" She stepped back, shocked. "What are you doing here?"

"I just had a meeting with some co-workers," he said, grinning widely and gesturing behind him to the men who had followed him out of the room. "Guys, this is my little sister, Ginny."

Ginny raised a distracted hand in greeting before turning back to her brother. "No, Charlie," she said. "I mean, what are you doing _here_ – at Hogwarts?"

"Oh, I'm only here for two weeks," he said evasively. Ginny's brow furrowed, and she looked at him uncertainly, warily…. Why was he being so secretive? Her mind immediately skimmed over various conclusions. Maybe her mum had sent him? But then, what was all this about a meeting?

"Have you had dinner yet?" he asked. She nodded, and he glanced at his watch. "Silly question – it's really late. It's all right, I'll have something later. Let's go for a walk, then! The guys are going off to a pub."

"All right," she agreed, and she waited, shifting from foot to foot, as he said goodbye to his mates.

Finally, they walked toward the entrance hall and out onto the grounds. Ginny wasn't sure where they were going and she just let Charlie lead the way. He prattled on about his co-workers – one of them had just had a baby and another was thinking about proposing to his girlfriend – until they were out of earshot of the castle, and then he stopped mid-sentence.

"Sorry about that," he said, and she turned to him, eyebrows raised. "Couldn't have the guys see me giving up any information, right?"

He chuckled, and Ginny folded her arms. "So you _are_ going to tell me what you're doing here."

"Better," he said, ruffling her hair. For a second, Ginny felt seven years old again, and her face broke into a wide grin. Charlie had always been the most laidback of her brothers, and she'd never fully appreciated it until this moment. "I'm going to _show_ you. If there's anyone in our family who'll appreciate this tidbit of information, it's you. Come on."

He led them farther away from the castle, and Ginny tried to content herself with waiting a little longer. "How long have you been here, anyway? Why didn't you write and tell me you'd be coming?"

He shrugged. "Just got here yesterday morning," he said. "And I figured I'd run into you. Though," he added, chuckling, "I didn't think it'd be quite so literal."

She laughed. Charlie didn't even hesitated as they crossed into the Forbidden Forest – she figured that working with dragons for so long had dulled his sense of caution somewhat. She had a sudden thought – _dragons_. She remembered Charlie mentioning a special project he was working on earlier in the summer…that's how he had avoided Nancy Fawcett's wedding. Her mind barreled toward a conclusion…dragons…the Triwizard….

"Ginny?" His voice jolted her from her thoughts, and she turned to look at him. He was lit by the faintest sliver of moonlight that shone through the foliage above, and she saw that his expression was suddenly serious.

"Hm?"

"You're doing all right, right?"

She raised her eyebrows at him. "What do you mean?"

He raised two hands. "I'm not asking for Mum, I swear," he said. "It's just, Mum and Dad seem to think you're _not_ doing all right, and you say that you are. I just want to know that you're telling the truth. I'm not taking sides. I just want to know."

She opened her mouth to answer, then paused, and they walked in silence for a moment. "I really _am_ all right," she said finally. "Honestly."

She decided not to elaborate more. Charlie had said quite clearly that he didn't want to take sides, and she didn't want to put him in the awkward position of listening to her complain about their parents and Ron and the twins.

"Good," he said brightly, obviously relieved to have gotten that over with. He never had been very good at these kinds of serious conversations. He ruffled her hair again. "Ah, here we are," he said suddenly.

They had come to a wide clearing, and in the center was a huge enclosure and inside…Ginny's heart nearly stopped in her chest. Everything clicked into place.

_Dragons._

Four large dragons were writhing inside the enclosure. Occasionally, great bursts of flame issued from their mouths, lighting the clearing with an almost eerie orange glow.

Charlie was watching her expression and grinning widely at her shock.

Ginny swallowed, regaining her composure. "For the first task?" she asked, unconsciously lowering her voice to a thin whisper.

His grin widened. "Exactly. Took Ron nearly five minutes to figure it out…what with the spluttering and all."

She looked at him sharply. "Ron knows?"

"Yeah, I saw him after breakfast yesterday and took him out here. He'll probably tell Harry, but it's better that way. A few of the guys saw Karkaroff sneaking around a few days ago, so he's told Krum for sure. And Hagrid was talking about bringing Madame Maxime out to see them, and she'll probably tell Fleur…."

Charlie continued speaking, but Ginny had stopped listening as she realized what all this meant.

_Cedric was the only one who didn't know._

* * *

><p>An hour later, she was pacing the corridor outside the Hufflepuff Common Room. She knew that getting inside had something to do with the barrels stacked in the nook to her right, but she didn't know exactly what to do. She needed a Hufflepuff to let her in. She glanced at her watch – it was almost after hours – she'd probably be late getting back to the dungeons.<p>

Luckily, she didn't have to wait long. A group of First Year girls came giggling down the corridor moments later.

"I need to speak to someone in your Common Room," she said flatly.

One of the girls – the leader, apparently – looked her up and down skeptically. "You are _not_ in Hufflepuff."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "What gave it away, my robes?" she replied sarcastically. The girl looked wounded, and Ginny immediately regretted her harshness. "Sorry. It's just really urgent."

"We really shouldn't let you in," the girl said. "But I can get whoever it is you need to talk to, if you want."

Ginny sighed, then nodded. "That's fine. It's Cedric – Cedric Diggory. Tell him it's important."

The girls gathered around the barrels so that Ginny couldn't quite make out what they were doing. Some kind of tapping pattern…. And in a moment they were gone. As Ginny waited, she realized she'd been meaning to come by Cedric's Common Room anyway. She pulled the dress out of her bag and was in the process of smoothing out the wrinkles when Cedric appeared.

He was already in his pajamas, and he looked concerned. "Ginny, is something wrong?" he said quickly. "The girls said you looked agitated."

She held out the dress, and his brow furrowed. Then recognition dawned and he began to laugh. "Is that El's dress? I didn't need it immediately, you know," he said. "You could have given it to me at breakfast or something. It's –" He stopped short at the expression on her face.

"Ginny," he said, lowering his voice and stepping closer. "Is there something else?"

"It's dragons," she said flatly. "The first task is dragons."

He stared at her, his mouth falling open slightly. "It's –"

"Yes," she said. "Dragons. I saw them. They're keeping them in the forest now, but there are four, which means…."

"One for each of us," he said, comprehension dawning.

He suddenly looked very pale, and now she stepped closer, closing the distance between them and putting a hand on his arm. "Don't worry. There's still plenty of time for you to prepare."

He nodded. "Yeah, there is," he said. "You're right. Wait – do the others know…?"

She looked up at him, an amused smile twitching at the corners of her lips. "Does it matter?"

"Of course," he said, looking a bit scandalized. "It wouldn't be fair if…."

"Always so noble," she said, cutting him off. "They all know. Karkaroff told Krum, Maxime will be telling Fleur within the next few days, and Ron will have told Harry by now."

He was nodding slowly, but at the last bit, he looked up. "You think your brother's told Potter?"

Her brow furrowed. "Of course. They're best friends."

He paused. "I'm not so sure about that," he said. "I was in the library earlier, and he and that other girl…Granger…they were talking about the task. They didn't seem to have any idea. And I don't know if you've noticed, but your brother and Potter haven't been around each other much lately…."

He trailed off, and Ginny looked away from him, mind racing. She hadn't really paid attention before, but now that Cedric mentioned it…. Harry and Ron must have had a row. She hadn't seen them together for weeks now. They had always been inseparable before. Maybe Harry _didn't_ know. She frowned. Could Ron really be that vindictive?

"Ginny?" Cedric said, and she met his eyes again. "You should get back. It's getting late."

She shook herself and smiled. "Ever the Prefect," she said.

He smiled back, then put a hand on her arm as she turned to leave. "Thank you," he said genuinely. "I really appreciate it."

"No problem, Ced," she said, grinning. "I'll see you later, then."

* * *

><p>The next day, she was in the library with the Carrows, and she saw Harry sitting with Hermione a few tables away. Hermione was bent over a book, reading furiously, and every so often she would give Harry a stern nudge, and he would straighten from where he was obviously daydreaming and glance over at whatever page she was looking at. It would have been funny, and so typical, but for Ron's notable absence. And she realized then and there that Ron really <em>could<em> be that vindictive.

After a half hour or so, Harry stood, murmured something to Hermione, and walked over to the bookshelves. Ginny made a quick decision and scribbled two sentences on a slip of parchment.

_The first task is dragons – Charlie showed me. Everyone else knows._

Then she followed him to where he was standing between two tall rows of books. She didn't say anything, just slipped the parchment into his hand. She stood there while he skimmed it, just to make sure he understood, and watched his eyes widen in surprise. He looked back at her, eyebrows raised, and after a moment of locked gazes, he nodded shortly.

She nodded back, then turned and walked away.

On her way back to the Common Room a few hours later, she saw Ron in the hallway, sitting in one of the nooks in the wall with Dean, Seamus, and a big-breasted blonde that she didn't know. The amount of anger that filled her chest at the sight of him, laughing at some undoubtedly inane joke and leaving his best friend in the dark, surprised her, and before she quite knew what she was doing, she had walked right up to him, arms crossed.

"You've got some nerve lecturing me about my friends, Ron Weasley," she snapped.

He looked up, completely baffled, and went red as her words sunk in. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Ginny," he countered.

"Don't play stupid," she said, fixing him with a cold glare. "You know _exactly_ what I'm talking about."

His face drained pale at that, and his mouth opened and closed a few times like a fish's.

"Don't bother," she said flatly. "I've already told him."

And then she stalked off, leaving him gaping in her wake.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> I actually meant for this chapter to cover a lot more, but it was getting long and this seemed like a pretty good stopping point.

Question of the chapter: **If you could have a meal with any three people (alive or dead), who would they be and why?**

Please leave a review - I will be frantically writing a paper for the rest of the week and could use the encouragement. Love you all and can't wait to hear what you think!


	15. Seduction Tactics

**Chapter 15: Seduction Tactics  
><strong>

"_Merlin_, this thing is heavy," Ginny said, hefting the golden egg from hand to hand. She ran her palms over the smooth surface, watching it glint in the sunlight. "After you win the Tournament, can I have it to use as a Quaffle?"

She grinned at Cedric, who was lounging beside her on the lake edge. It was a week after the First Task and shockingly good weather for early December. The wind was a bit crisp, but the grounds were still dotted with students enjoying the rare sunny day.

"I don't think you want it," Cedric replied. "I haven't shown you the best part yet."

"Best part?"

"Note the sarcasm," he added, taking the egg from her. He turned it in his hands and pressed a nodule on the top. The egg opened and immediately emitted a loud screech that reminded Ginny of chalk on blackboards and a particularly bad breakfast when Peeves had decided to make music by scraping forks against plates. She cringed, putting her hands over her ears, and gestured for Cedric to snap the egg shut.

He set it down beside his book bag. "Sorry," he said loudly, smiling rather sheepishly at the students nearby, all of whom were grimacing in their direction.

"That's _awful_," Ginny groaned, eyeing the egg a little more cautiously now. "You faced a bloody dragon for _that_?"

"Yep," he replied wryly. "And that burn hurt." He rubbed his cheek speculatively. "Good thing Madame Pomfrey had the healing salve on hand or I could've been –"

"Charred for life?" she asked, smirking.

Cedric laughed aloud. "Exactly." He paused. "I just wish I could figure out what I'm supposed to learn from that –" He glared at the egg. "– _noise_. I've tried every charm I can think of…sounds the same."

Ginny leaned back on her elbows, looking up at the sky thoughtfully. She had a sudden idea, and she met his gaze, eyes sparkling. "Have you tried putting it in a fire?"

He raised his eyebrows at her. "No," he said slowly. "I'm not exactly keen on burning my only clue about the Second Task to a crisp."

"Dragon eggs need heat," she continued, as if he hadn't spoken. "Maybe it'll hatch or something!"

She watched comprehension dawn on his face. He drew his wand and murmured a quick spell that Ginny didn't recognize. "Privacy spell…don't want people to know what I've tried. Especially if this works," he added, grinning at her. She beamed and sat up straight as he whispered another charm and moved his wand in a precise circle around the egg. "_Incendio_," he said, and the ground beneath it – half grass, half twigs – burst into flames, the fire limited by the circle he'd drawn.

Ginny watched, worrying her lower lip with anticipation, as the egg heated. It began to glow red, and for a moment, Ginny was really convinced that something would emerge from within. But several minutes passed, the only sound the crackling of the flames, and finally Cedric sighed. "_Aguamenti_," he said, and a short stream of water flowed from the tip of his wand, extinguishing the fire.

"It was a good idea," he said, shrugging. He cooled the egg with yet another charm before depositing it in his bag. With a disappointed grumble, Ginny scuffed the charred circle on the ground with the bottom of her shoe until it blended in with the rest of the ground.

"Well, I should get back," Cedric said, standing and removing the privacy spell. "I'm meeting Cho for dinner."

Ginny fell in beside him, and they started back toward the castle. "How's that going, by the way?"

He grinned widely. "Really well, actually. I'm asking her to the Yule Ball tonight."

"What? And you didn't tell me that _right away_?"

He narrowed his eyes at her, but she just looked back innocently. "If I recall," he replied, "you were only interested in the gigantic golden egg I've been lugging around."

"But what are dragons and screeching eggs compared to Cho Chang?" she answered, face breaking into a wide grin. She nudged his side teasingly, and he laughed, rolling his eyes.

"Why must you always mock me?"

"Because you can take it," she quipped, winking. "You already know I think you two are good for each other. _And_ you'd have nauseatingly…_pretty_ children."

Cedric snorted. "I don't think we're quite at that stage yet, but thanks." He paused, glancing over at her. "What about you – has anyone asked you? You won't be able to go otherwise, right?"

"Right, but no," she said, shrugging. "No one's asked."

"Shame. What about those boys you're always with? Malfoy and…."

"Zabini," she finished, laughing at the thought. "They're both a bit preoccupied with their other…conquests, I think."

"So I've heard," he said. "They have quite the reputation, you know."

"Unsurprising."

"Just a few years away from being the next Slytherin Sex Gods, apparently."

Ginny snorted. "Merlin, I _know_. The other girls in my dormitory are going a bit crazy with that term."

Cedric made a rather disapproving sound, and she caught the look on his face. "Come on, Diggory. Don't you _dare_ go all _older brother_ on me."

He laughed at that, putting up his hands. "I wouldn't dare, I promise. You're much too scary."

She grinned. "And don't you forget it."

They reached the castle, and he paused in the doorway of the Great Hall. Students were milling around them on their way in to dinner, and Ginny could see Cho waiting for him at the Hufflepuff table.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you," he said. "I took a look at your Charms essay – it's really good, actually. But the incantations in the fifth paragraph were shoddy work," he added.

"Thanks a lot, Ced," she said wryly.

"I know the book you need. Are you studying in the library tomorrow after class?"

"As always. See you then?"

He nodded and grinned, glancing over his shoulder to Cho. His smile brightened noticeably at the sight of her, and Ginny rolled her eyes. "Go on, then, lover boy," she said.

He gave her an affectionate pat on the back before heading into the Great Hall, and she shook her head at him as she walked away toward the dungeons. She wasn't hungry, and she thought she might have a fly before eating. She'd been disappointed when Dumbledore announced the Quidditch Cup was cancelled. It didn't mean she could let herself get out of practice, though.

"Weasley!" She didn't notice Blaise until he came up beside her and slung an arm casually over her shoulder. "Not going to dinner?"

She smiled up at him and shook her head. "Fly," she said shortly. He nodded, keeping his arm around her as they walked. Girls in the hall stared at him and giggled – actually _giggled_ – as he walked past. Ginny suppressed a snort, though she supposed she understood the appeal. He was tall and slender and handsome, and both he and Draco somehow managed to pull off their school uniforms with a certain careless ease.

"So how's Diggory?" he asked suddenly, pulling her from her speculations. "That was him back there, right?"

"He's fine. His egg nearly deafened me."

"He had you out there _alone_ for an hour and a half, and he spent it showing you a screeching egg?" he said, eyes glinting teasingly. "Typical Hufflepuff seduction tactics."

She rolled her eyes, lips tilting into a smile. "Just friends. And how do you know I was outside with him for an hour and a half? Keeping tabs on me, Zabini?"

She arched an eyebrow provocatively, and he laughed, steering them suddenly into an alcove to one side of the hallway. She found herself with her back against the stone wall, Blaise leaning casually over her and holding himself up by an arm. She realized just how _close_ he was – his face just inches away from hers. He smelled like shampoo and chocolate. They'd been flirting shamelessly for months, of course, but this was another thing entirely.

Despite herself, she found that her heartbeat had sped up significantly – she could hear it pounding in her ears – and she felt her cheeks heating. She swallowed and cleared her throat. "What exactly do you think you're doing, Blaise?" she asked, fixing him with a challenging stare.

He smirked. "You all right, Ginny? You look a bit flushed."

"Don't flatter yourself," she said, trying for a glare and failing miserably.

"I don't think I am, actually," he replied. A pause, then, "So are you going to the Ball with pretty boy, then?"

Around his body, she could see people gawking at them as they walked by. "No," she said.

She could almost _feel_ him smile. "Good." He reached his free hand out, and her eyes snapped back to his as he brushed his thumb lightly across her cheek. She shivered, and his smile widened. "Go with me."

"Are you asking me to the Ball?" She was pleased that her voice came out steadily enough.

"Do I even have to?" He leaned in closer, and for a second she actually thought he was going to kiss her in the middle of the crowded hallway. Her breath hitched, and he pulled away at the last moment, grinning smugly now. "I didn't think so."

He pushed himself off the wall and away from her. "Well, I'll let you get to your fly," he said casually, moving away.

She straightened, and this time she managed the glare, though her lips were turning up at the corners. "You are _such_ an arse, Zabini," she called to him, and he turned halfway down the corridor and winked at her, a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

"Is that a yes, then?"

She rolled her eyes. "I suppose so, even though I hate you."

He smiled brightly. "You love me, don't deny it." And then he continued down the hall, leaving Ginny shaking her head after him, but smiling all the same.

* * *

><p>Ginny was at dinner two weeks later, Draco sitting beside her and Blaise across the table, when Cedric strode over, a wide grin on his face.<p>

"What's got you so happy?" she asked, smiling up at him.

"I figured out the egg," he said.

"You _what_?" she replied, eyes widening.

"Ginny Weasley greeting my news with real enthusiasm and no mocking whatsoever," he said lightly. "I should savor this moment, shouldn't I?"

She snorted. "Yes, because it may never happen again." He laughed. "So are you going to tell me or not?"

He glanced at Draco and Blaise, who were observing the conversation with raised eyebrows, then looked back to her. "Better," he said. "I'll show you. Are you free tonight?"

"Intriguing, Diggory," she replied. "When?"

He leaned down to murmur in her ear. "Meet me at the Prefect's bathroom on the fifth floor – you know the one? At eight. Oh, and wear something you don't mind getting wet."

She nodded, looking at him quizzically as he straightened and crossed his arms. "Strange instructions," she said.

He chuckled at her expression. "Trust me – see you tonight. Enjoy the rest of your dinner," he added, nodding to Blaise and Draco as he loped back over to the Hufflepuff table.

At seven fifty, Ginny went up to her dormitory and rummaged through her trunk, looking for something to wear. She hadn't bothered packing her swimming suit, so she put on an old pair of track shorts and a tank top under her robes. She pulled her hair up into a ponytail and headed back down to the Common Room.

"Meeting someone?" she asked casually, falling into step beside Blaise, Crabbe, and Goyle as they exited the dungeons.

"No," Crabbe grumbled. "Detention with Trelawney."

"We mocked her moronic predictions a little too openly last class," Blaise explained.

She laughed. "Now you'll be cleaning teacups all evening, geniuses."

They walked through the halls toward the nearest staircase and had just reached the third floor when someone hollered Ginny's name. She turned to see Neville rushing down the hall toward her. When he came to a halt, he looked a bit winded. "Hey," he said, brushing some hair out of his face and trying to catch his breath. Behind her, Ginny could hear Crabbe and Goyle already beginning to snicker.

"Hey, Neville," she said a little uncertainly.

Neville glanced nervously at Blaise, Crabbe, and Goyle. "Can I, er…talk to you…privately?" he stammered. His cheeks pinked suddenly. "I mean…separately," he said quickly.

"Aw, we're all friends here, Longbottom," Crabbe said mockingly. "You can tell us anything."

Ginny rolled her eyes and grabbed Neville's arm to lead him a few feet away. "What's wrong, Neville?" she asked.

"Nothing's wrong," he said. He was blinking _a lot_, and Ginny was beginning to be a bit concerned. "I just…wanted to, er…." He glanced back to where the boys seemed to have decided that this was a good show and were watching, smirks on their faces. "Maybe this isn't the best time."

"Best time for what?" she prodded.

"Forget it…I'll just, er…."

He stopped, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot, and Ginny sighed. "Come on, Nev, just spit it out," she said.

"_IwantedtoaskyoutotheBall_," he said, all in a rush, and then he exhaled heavily and looked determinedly at his feet.

"You wanted to…," she began, confused, and then it dawned on her. "You wanted to – _oh_!"

Blaise, Crabbe, and Goyle could obviously still hear, and Blaise snorted rather loudly. She did her best to ignore them.

"I actually can't, Neville," she said. "I've already said I'll go with…." She almost said Blaise's name, then decided he'd get too much satisfaction out of that. "…someone else."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Blaise look a bit miffed, and she suppressed a smirk.

Neville flushed bright red and started blinking again. "Oh. Oh, well…sorry to bother you then," he managed. "I'll just, er…."

Ginny felt a rush of sympathy for him. "What about Hermione?" she asked.

Neville paused in the act of turning away. "Someone's already asked her."

"Someone asked the _Mudblood_?" Blaise said loudly.

Neville glared. "Don't call her that," he snapped, chest rising angrily.

Blaise opened his mouth to retort, but Ginny cut in. "That's fine, Neville," she said, shooting Zabini a sharp look. He laughed at her expression, putting his hands up in mock surrender, and she turned back to Neville. "Maybe Luna?"

He shrugged. "Yeah, uh…maybe I'll ask her," he said. He smiled lightly and shot Blaise one more hard look before heading away down the corridor.

"You deserve every teacup you wash tonight, Zabini," Ginny said, rolling her eyes at him as they continued up the staircase. He chuckled and twirled a piece of her hair around his finger before tucking it behind her ear.

* * *

><p>Cedric was leaning against the wall outside the fifth floor Prefect's bathroom when she arrived.<p>

"So, I can't wait to hear why we're meeting in a loo," she said, grinning at him.

He straightened and smiled back. "You'll see," he said.

"I thought we discussed this whole 'mysterious and inscrutable' thing."

He smirked. "_Pine fresh_," he said, and he held the door open as she walked inside.

The Prefect's bathroom was large and covered in marble from floor to ceiling. A tub that looked more like a swimming pool dominated the center of the room, and a multitude of bath taps surrounded its edge. It smelled of scented soaps, and Ginny sighed contentedly.

"Merlin," she murmured. "I never wanted to be a Prefect until this moment."

"A loo is a powerful thing," he answered, a smile playing at the corners of his lips.

She raised her eyebrows at him, laughing with surprise. "Now _you're_ mocking _me_! How the tables have turned."

"Are you proud?"

"Desperately."

Cedric crossed the room and began turning various taps. Tinted water and bubbles jetted out, filling the tub – or pool – with surprising rapidity. "The egg's in my bag," he said, gesturing. "And there are hooks over there for your robes."

Interest rising with every moment, Ginny hung up her robe and retrieved the egg, passing it from hand to hand. The pool was full now, steam rising up off the top, and Cedric shed his own clothes down to his boxers before jumping into the water.

He surfaced, smiling widely, and shook his wet hair out of his face. "Here," he said, eyes sparkling, "pass me the egg. And get in already. Don't worry – it's warm."

Ginny tossed him the egg, and with a shrug, a deep breath, and a grin in Cedric's direction, she cannonballed into the water.

* * *

><p>He knew it must be after hours by now, so Draco tried to soften the sound of his footsteps as he and Pansy headed back toward the dungeons. He didn't pull away when she looped her arm through his, but they walked in complete silence. They didn't have much to say to one another, and they both despised awkward small talk.<p>

As they descended the familiar steps and were enveloped by the glow from the wall sconces, he glanced her way. "Top button," he said shortly.

She looked down to where her shirt was open at the top, the fabric of her bra visible from beneath, and she smirked. "Propriety, Draco? Really? I think it's a bit late for that."

He smirked and shrugged carelessly.

There was a commotion and laughter from behind them, and they turned to see Ginny and Cedric Diggory appear from around the corner. Ginny was bent almost double with mirth, and Diggory was wiping a tear from his eye, his face split into a wide grin. They were both sopping wet and dripping from beneath their robes. Draco's eyebrows went up to his hairline.

Ginny spotted them first and raised a hand in greeting. "Malfoy! And Parkinson," she managed to say through her laughter.

Diggory swallowed another bout of laughter and extended a hand. "I don't think we've formally met, actually," he said.

"No, we haven't," Draco said, shaking it.

Pansy took his hand for a moment before dropping it and wiping the droplets of water off on her robes. She made a face. "You're dripping all over the hall," she said distastefully.

Diggory looked down at himself, and he and Ginny glanced at each other and burst into laughter again. "I'm sorry," Diggory said. "I should've realized. Here…." He drew his wand and performed a quick drying spell on Ginny before turning his wand on himself. "There, better," he said.

Ginny seemed to have gained control of herself by now. "Anyway, thanks for walking me back, Ced."

"Well, I figured it was my duty to make sure Filch didn't get you in trouble."

"Using your Prefect status for evil – impressive," she replied, grinning at him. "I'll see you later."

He nodded to Draco and Pansy. "Nice to meet you," he said politely before moving off.

His footsteps echoed in the hallway as he left. Draco arched an eyebrow in Ginny's direction, and she shrugged. "Sorry about that," she said. "We were just –"

"As thrilling as I'm sure your escapades were, Weasley," Pansy cut in rudely. "I think I'm going to go to bed."

"Be my guest," Ginny replied, sobering slightly and giving Pansy a hard look.

Parkinson said the password and they all went into the Common Room, Pansy marching past them and up the girls' staircase. The Common Room was empty, and Pansy's departure left Draco and Ginny together in silence. He pointed his wand at the grate, and a lively fire sprang up as he flopped himself lengthwise on the sofa.

"Merlin," Ginny said, giving him an amused look. She shed her robes and draped them over the back of the sofa. She was wearing shorts and a tank top beneath – wholly inappropriate clothing for winter weather, he thought speculatively. "Can't you work a bit harder to snog that attitude out of her?"

He smirked. "I don't think it's her attitude," he replied, stretching his arms over his head for a moment. "I think she just hates you."

Ginny laughed. "Not to worry. The feeling's mutual."

Draco patted the space beside him, and Ginny lay down, nestling comfortably against him. "Arm," she said casually, and he maneuvered his right arm so that it wrapped around her, cushioning her neck. "Perfect."

"So," he said, meeting her eyes teasingly. "Tell me the truth, Weasley. Are you snogging him?"

She rolled her eyes. "He's four years older than me."

"So?" he asked. "I'm one year older than you."

"There's a difference. And anyway, I'm not snogging you either."

He winked. "We'll see about that."

She snorted. "You're as bad as Zabini."

"He was right, though. We have to get you up to flirting par if we're going to keep up the reputation of our little trio."

"I'd say I'm pretty good at it already," she said, giving him a cheeky look.

He nodded, grinning. "Exactly what I told him. Move your leg, will you? I can't feel my thigh."

She shifted accordingly. "I appreciate the vote of confidence, Malfoy," she replied. "I'm appropriately flattered."

They lay in silence for a moment, listening to the crackling of the fire, and then Ginny turned her head to grin at him. "I've missed this," she said. "I feel like I haven't seen you in ages."

He raised his eyebrows at her. "You just saw me at dinner, Weasley. Do we need to have a talk about separation anxiety?"

"You know what I mean," she replied, rolling her eyes. "Just the two of us. I've been helping Cedric with Tournament stuff, and you and Pansy hardly ever come up for air." He smiled amusedly. "We haven't just _talked_ in a while, you know? And _don't_ call me nauseatingly sentimental," she added sternly. "I'll kick you."

He laughed. "You're nauseatingly sentimental," he said cheekily, and he laughed harder when she aimed a hard kick at his shin. "_Fuck_, all right, I believe you."

"Hey," he continued, a sudden idea popping into his head. "Come with me to the Yule Ball. You can have me all to yourself for an entire evening." He smirked at her, and she laughed.

"Dream come true as that would be," she said wryly. "Zabini already asked me. I'm surprised he didn't mention it to you."

Draco's eyebrows went up. Blaise _hadn't_ mentioned it, strangely enough. He shrugged. "Ah well, I suppose I'll ask Pansy then."

"Good idea," Ginny said. "I don't fancy getting hexed for encroaching on anyone's territory anyway."

Draco snorted. "I'd watch out for Samantha Vaisey, then," he said.

She looked at him quizzically. "Fifth Year?"

"Yeah, Blaise's latest interest…started a week ago. She fancies him back, I think, but she's being strangely aloof. It's driving him nuts."

"Hm," Ginny said speculatively. Draco gave her a curious look, trying to figure out what more was behind the sound, but her expression was neutral enough.

After a moment, he looked her up and down appraisingly. "You're not planning on wearing hand-me-downs, are you?" he asked skeptically. "Blaise is a hard man to impress."

Ginny glared at him. "I'm not trying to impress him. I'm going to wear what I want, thanks very much."

He smirked. "Right. Well, Hogsmeade weekend's coming up. I'll buy you something then."

She kicked him again, but more lightly this time. "I don't want your charity, Malfoy," she quipped.

"Think of it as a chance to get the whole day with me," he replied cheekily. "You know, since you've been missing me so much."

"You're an insufferable git, you know that?"

"Only for you, Gin," he said, leaning his cheek against her hair. "Only for you."

* * *

><p>A few days later, he found himself in the best dress robe shop in Hogsmeade, leaning his head against the back of the sofa and staring up at the ceiling.<p>

"What the hell is _this_?" Ginny asked, tossing a heap of sparkling fabric over the top of her dressing room curtain. It landed squarely in his lap.

"What are you talking about? This is a good one," he said, holding it out in front of him.

"I'm not a _complete_ tart, you know," she called.

"Yes, but in this dress, you could be," he quipped.

She peered around the edge of the curtain to give him a _look_, and he laughed.

There was a rustling of fabric, followed by a long silence. "I found it," she said suddenly, sounding pleased.

He stood and crossed the room. "Well? Let me see it."

She peeked around the edge of the curtain again, holding it firmly in place to obscure her body. "Not a chance, Malfoy," she said, brown eyes sparkling. "Do you want me to compromise my grand entrance?"

He sighed and rolled his eyes. "But what about buyer's remorse?" he asked.

"I wouldn't worry about it," she replied, tossing him a wink before retreating back into the dressing room. He smirked, shaking his head with amusement.

* * *

><p><em>Two weeks later<em>

Pansy collapsed onto the bed beside him, and Draco exhaled heavily, his heart still pounding loud in his ears. He turned his head to look at her, eyes skimming from her flushed face down to her bra and knickers. Their snogging sessions had been getting more and more intense over the past few months, and it was getting increasingly difficult to keep from getting carried away. Luckily, Pansy seemed to draw the line at passionate snogging – he had no idea what he would do if she suggested one day that they just go all out and shag.

"Adrian asked me out last night," she said suddenly, jolting him from his thoughts.

He folded his arms casually behind his head. "Pucey?"

She gave him a hard look. "Yes, Pucey."

"Huh," he said.

She sat up to look squarely down at him. "And you're not going to ask me what I said?" she said, sounding rather incredulous. He met her eyes, brow furrowing in confusion.

"I assume you said yes," he said slowly. "You've been talking about him a lot lately."

With an angry jerk, she pushed herself off the bed and began pulling on her skirt and top. He sat up on his elbows and watched her, eyebrows raised now. "What's the problem, Pansy?" he asked.

"He asked me to the Yule Ball too, you know," she said over him, voice rising. "I should have said yes to him instead of you."

His chest tightened with annoyance. "Why didn't you then?" he snapped.

"Pure stupidity," she answered. "Doesn't matter though. After the Ball, I _am_ going to say yes to him, and you can go snog _Weasley_ for all I care."

He straightened. "What the hell does Weasley have to do with any of this?"

She made a frustrated sound, before slinging her bag over her shoulder and shooting him an acid glare as she left the room.

* * *

><p><em>Christmas Eve<em>

The Great Hall was bright with fairy lights, and snow fell from the ceiling, fading into nothingness a few feet above their heads. The tables had been cleared to create an open dance floor, and the tallest Christmas tree Draco had ever seen towered near the professors' table.

The Ball hadn't started yet, and though the room was already milling with students, people were still filtering in from the entrance hall. Draco was standing near the punch, Blaise beside him. He took a sip from his glass, surveying the room. Pansy, who had hardly spoken to him all week, stood a few feet away with Daphne.

"Why couldn't you have just met Weasley in the Common Room?" he asked, turning to Blaise.

He shrugged. "She said some Sixth Year asked her roommate Bridget, and the other girls in their dormitory wanted to help them get ready…thought it might take a while."

Draco snorted. "And you left her with them?" he asked. "She's probably in hell."

Blaise laughed into his glass. "Did you see her brother's robes?" he asked, nodding to one corner. Ron Weasley was standing with his date, looking distinctly uncomfortable in a truly heinous set of dress robes.

"Typical," Draco answered, smirking.

His eyes continued to skim the crowd, landing on Neville Longbottom, who was speaking quietly to a blonde girl he didn't recognize. The skirt of the girl's dress was covered in fabric butterflies, which had been enchanted to flap their wings, giving the illusion that hundreds of the things had decided to land on her. "Blaise, look at –"

"Well, _fuck_," Blaise said suddenly.

He turned, confused, to see Blaise staring open-mouthed at the entrance to the Hall. "What –" he began, following his gaze.

The words died in his throat, because Ginny was standing in the doorway, laughing at something Bridget Avery had just said.

And she looked beautiful.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> This chapter was EXTREMELY fun to write - I hope it was equally fun to read. I can't wait to hear what you all think :)

Question of the chapter: **If you could go anywhere in the world for a week, where would you go and why?**

Review, review, review, please!


	16. Fruit Punch and First Kisses

**Author's Note:** Sorry for the long wait - it's Finals Week here at school, and I haven't had much time to write. I think this will be worth the wait, though...enjoy!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 16: Fruit Punch and First Kisses<br>**

Draco tried to look nonchalant as he took a long sip of punch, but his eyes were fixed on Ginny over the top of his glass. She looked…_incredible_.

His gaze skimmed over the thin straps of her deep red dress, across the v-neckline, where the color made the creamy-white of her skin nearly _glow_, and down to where the fabric hugged her body to her hips before falling loosely to the floor.

Was that really _Ginny_? Draco tore his eyes away and downed the rest of his punch in one swig.

Glancing around the room, he noted that he and Blaise hadn't been the only ones to notice little Ginny Weasley's entrance. She was turning heads throughout the Hall, and people were staring. A few expressions made him snort – Longbottom was flushed bright pink, and all three of her brothers looked as if their jaws might fall off.

By the time he looked back, she had spotted them and was making her way over from the doorway, smiling brightly. "Looking very dashing, both of you," she said, running a hand casually through her hair, which was loose around her shoulders. "As always."

"_Merlin_, Weasley," Blaise said, sounding impressed and handing her a glass of punch. "Where have you been hiding all of _this_?" He grasped one of her hands and twirled her. "Come on, let's see the whole thing."

She rolled her eyes and spun in a slow circle to show off the dress's low back, then glanced at Draco over her shoulder. "Money well spent?" she asked teasingly.

He shrugged and shot her a smirk. "Well I don't know, Gin…I think you could have put in a _little _more effort…."

"I can still kick you in heels, you know, Malfoy," she replied with a laugh. She looked around. "Where's –"

She was cut off by a loud sound, and they all looked up to see Dumbledore standing at the front of the hall, his wand poised as he cast the _Sonorus _spell. "Good evening, everyone," he said. His voice echoed through the room, and he smiled broadly. "May I just say how smart you all look tonight, particularly our guests from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang." He inclined his head toward Madame Maxime, who blushed and looked pleased, and Professor Karkaroff, who just pursed his lips and gave a short nod.

"Now," Professor Dumbledore continued. "I think it's time for us to begin our night of revelry, don't you agree?" He chuckled to himself, and there was a titter of awkward laughter. He nodded to the band assembled behind him, and they started up a triumphal march. "It is my absolute pleasure to present – our Triwizard Champions!"

Fifteen minutes later, Delacour, Krum, Diggory, and Potter were whirling their dates around the dance floor. Potter was doing a crap job of it – _unsurprising_,Draco thought with a derisive smirk. More surprising was Granger, who cleaned up better than Draco ever would have expected. The look of absolute shock on Ron Weasley's face nearly made Draco laugh aloud.

Diggory looked over as he and his date twirled nearby, and he winked at Ginny, who grinned and gave him a short wave.

"I was going to ask before," she said suddenly, turning away from the spectacle. "Where's Pansy?"

"Over there," Blaise put in, gesturing to where Pansy and Daphne had moved to join some of the older Slytherin boys on the other side of the room. Pansy was obviously flirting with Pucey – her arm was trailing lightly up and down his arm – but just as they all looked over, she turned and shot them a dirty look over her shoulder.

Ginny raised her glass to her mockingly, causing her scowl to widen, and Blaise snorted. "Trouble in paradise?" Ginny asked, raising her eyebrows.

"I think our dear Draco has done something to piss off his lady love," Blaise said.

"Mmm," Ginny mused, sipping her drink and giving Draco an odd look.

He shrugged back. "I honestly don't know what's gotten into her," he said carelessly.

"Must be that you're rubbish in bed, mate," Blaise said, nudging him wickedly. "It's not like you two _talk_."

Draco rolled his eyes, lips turning up at the corners, and Ginny laughed aloud. "Much as I admire that logic," she said, "that's not what I heard."

"Oh, really, Weasley?" Draco replied, grinning and arching an eyebrow at her. "What _did_ you hear?"

"Now you have him fishing for compliments," Blaise said with mock-weariness.

"Oh, don't worry, you'll like this too," Ginny replied.

"Then by all means, continue," he said, draping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her close against his body. The light flush that spread across her cheeks didn't escape Draco, and by Blaise's smirk, it didn't escape _him_ either. Behind them, the song ended, and other couples began to filter onto the floor for the next dance.

"Gods, I can't believe I'm telling you this," Ginny said, knocking back the rest of her punch and setting it down hard on the table. "_But_ the word all over the girls' dormitories is that you two…how to put this without making your egos explode…know how to show a girl a good time."

Draco grinned at Ginny's obvious discomfort. "Is that a blush I see?" he teased.

She glared. "Sod off. But honestly," she continued, "if I have to hear the words 'Slytherin Sex Gods' _ever _again, I'm going to retch." Blaise barked out a laugh at that. "You're both getting quite the reputation…around the other houses too, if Cedric's word is anything to go on," she added.

"Wait a second," Blaise said. "Why was pretty boy talking to you about _that_?"

"Looking out for my virtue, of course," she replied wryly. "He doesn't know it's in no danger from you two."

Blaise ran his hand down from her shoulder to her elbow and leaned in close to her ear. He murmured something that sounded an awful lot like "_You sure about that?_" and Draco watched Ginny flush a deeper shade of red. Blaise looked awfully self-satisfied, and then he looked out across the quickly-filling dance floor.

"Well, Malfoy," he said. "I think I better take Weasley out for a dance."

"You kids have fun," Draco replied. Ginny grinned at him around Blaise's arm, and he winked.

Draco watched them for a moment as he finished his second glass of punch. A few days after Hogsmeade weekend, Draco had asked Blaise casually why he hadn't said anything about inviting Ginny to the Ball. Blaise had shrugged. "Never came up," he replied.

Draco leaned back in his bed and flipped the page of his magazine. "You're not going after her, are you?"

Blaise laughed. "No, Weasley and I are just having fun," he said. "It's just amusing to work her up a bit."

"Isn't going with someone else going to hurt your chances with Vaisey?"

"I asked Weasley a while ago," he said. "I wanted to ask you about that, by the way. I can't figure that girl out."

"Who, Ginny?"

Blaise rolled his eyes. "No, Samantha. Her moods are so bloody unpredictable. Honestly, she goes from hot to cold in two seconds flat."

Draco was so distracted by his memory of the conversation that he didn't see the pretty brunette approaching him until she cleared her throat. He turned and she held out her hand. "Marcia Gamp," she said.

"Draco Malfoy," he said shortly.

"I know," she replied, surprising him. "I've seen you around the Common Room."

"Slytherin?"

She nodded. "Fifth Year."

"Ah." Of their own accord, his eyes darted over the attractive curve of her neck and down the line of her back.

"So," she said. "Are you going to offer me a drink?"

He met her eyes, which were sparkling flirtatiously. He reached for the ladle and smiled. "Sure."

* * *

><p><em>About an hour later<em>

Ginny was keenly aware of Blaise's fingers splayed across her hips as they swayed to the music – she could feel the heat of them through the satin of her dress – and she focused hard on not blushing. She knew that for the past month, she had been flushing red as a tomato every time he skimmed his hand across her skin or put his arm around her shoulders, and he was getting _far_ too much satisfaction from it. She rolled her eyes inwardly.

When her roommates had grilled her earlier in the evening, she had insisted that she wouldn't be caught dead dating Blaise Zabini (her exact words had been, "Don't be ridiculous – he goes through girls like tissues."), but she honestly wished he'd just make good on one of his provocative comments and get it over with. Then she could stop blushing like an idiot.

"Bloody tease," Zabini said.

Ginny started. "Er…_what_?"

He nodded over her shoulder, and she followed his gaze. "You're going to have to be more specific," she said easily, arching an eyebrow at him.

"Samantha Vaisey," he said. "Do you know her?"

"Oh, right," Ginny replied slowly. "Draco _did_ mention her…your latest witch of the week?"

Blaise laughed. "A couple of weeks now, but essentially. One second she's batting her eyelashes and touching my chest and the next she's giving me the cold shoulder."

His eyes flicked back over in Samantha's direction, and Ginny felt a flash of disappointment. She froze. Was she really _disappointed_ that she wasn't going to get to snog _Blaise_? She shook herself, and forced a light laugh. "So the great Blaise Zabini has finally met his match. I'll inform Professor Binns if you alert the Ministry," she said teasingly.

He rolled his eyes at her. "So much sarcasm in such a small person. Don't mock me, Weasley."

"All right, all right," she laughed. "Turn a bit – I want to get a look at this girl." They turned until she could see over his shoulder to where a group of Slytherin girls was chatting at the edge of the dance floor. One of them – a tall, lithe blonde in a shimmering silver dress – was staring at them, eyes narrowed.

"I'm assuming she's the one who can't take her eyes off you?" Ginny asked wryly.

"This is exactly what I'm saying," Blaise replied. "Before you got here, I tried to say hello – she wouldn't give me the time of day. Now all of a sudden she's interested."

"Huh," Ginny said, glancing back to Samantha. She had a sudden thought, and she met Blaise's eyes.

"Why are you smirking?" he asked, arching an eyebrow at her.

"I have an idea."

"Why does that make me nervous?" he said, a thread of amusement in his voice.

"Come closer," she murmured. His eyebrows went up to his hairline, and his lips twitched at the corners as he leaned closer toward her. She rolled her eyes, but a moment later she made sure to shoot Samantha Vaisey a triumphant look over Blaise's shoulder. The other girl looked ready to kill, and Ginny smirked. "Closer, you idiot," Ginny said. "It's working. Act like you're going to kiss me. But don't you _dare_ actually kiss me."

"Don't actually kiss you? You sure about that?" he asked teasingly.

"Oh, I'm sure," she said. "Just a few more seconds…," she breathed.

And just then she felt a sharp tap on her shoulder. Blaise straightened. "Samantha!" he said.

"Blaise promised me a dance, Weasley," Samantha Vaisey said, smiling a little too widely. Her perfectly manicured nails were tapping against her hip. Ginny smiled right back. "Isn't that right, Blaise?"

"It is," Blaise replied, eyes a little wider than usual. "Though I don't remember you agreeing when I asked you earlier," he added.

Samantha blinked. "Don't be silly," she said. "I'm sure I agreed." She twirled a bit of hair around her finger. "If you'll excuse us, Weasley…."

Ginny made a great show of hesitating as she backed away. "I'll be over at that table, Blaise," she said, trying to sound mournful and stifle her laughter at the same time, "…if you need me."

"I wouldn't hold your breath," Samantha replied superiorly, stepping into Blaise's open arms. As soon as her back was fully turned, Ginny grinned widely at Blaise, who gave her a look that clearly said "_Touche, Weasley_" and winked.

Smiling, Ginny crossed the room to pour herself another glass of punch. She took a sip, savoring the cool taste of fruity-flavoring on her tongue, and she sank into a chair at a nearby table. The dance was in full swing by now, and through the crowd, she could just make out Neville and Luna swaying crazily, the butterflies on her dress flapping their wings to the beat. The sight made her smile. Draco was off to one side, dancing with a brunette that Ginny didn't recognize.

She continued to observe people over the top of her glass until someone sank down next to her with a huffy sound. She looked over. "Harry!" she said, surprised.

He looked annoyed, and he was running a hand through his hair in his usual frustrated manner, but when he realized it was her, his eyes widened. "Ginny! Sorry – didn't realize it was you. You look…." His eyes traveled up and down her body, and he swallowed. "…er…different," he finished finally.

"Thanks," she said rather awkwardly. "So," she added lightly. "Something wrong?"

He huffed again, looking away and slouching in his seat. "Just my idiotic best friends being their usual selves," he said, gesturing subtly to a table across the room. Ron and Hermione seemed to be having a very _un_friendly conversation, and after a few seconds, Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and stormed off, leaving Ron red-faced and looking furious. "I needed a breather."

She proffered her drink. "I bet," she said as he gave her a grateful look and took a sip. "No, keep it," she added when he tried to hand it back.

They sat in silence for a moment. "So are you and Ron friends again, then?" she asked.

He nodded. "He apologized after the First Task," he explained. "Finally realized I'd be mental to put my own name in that Goblet. I never got a chance to thank you by the way…for telling me about the dragons."

Ginny smiled. "No problem. As soon as I realized Ron hadn't…." She trailed off and shrugged.

"Right," he replied. "He means well, you know," he added after a second, as if he felt a compulsive need to defend his friend from her judgment. "He doesn't like that you two are…the way you are now. He'd never _say_ that, mind, but he's always really cared about his family."

"Funny way of showing it, yelling at me in front of the whole school," she said, looking away from him.

He snorted. "I never said he had tact."

She grinned. "No, you did not."

"And your mum _did_ have a big fit when you wouldn't come home. She was worried about you" he added, arching an eyebrow at her.

She scowled. "Don't _you_ start, Harry Potter," she said. "It looks like worry, but it's _actually_ just an excuse to get me away from 'that horrible boy' Draco Malfoy."

"Why can't it be both?" he asked.

She didn't know quite what to say to that, and after a moment he knocked back the rest of the punch. "Sorry, I didn't mean to make everything so serious," he said. He glanced at her sidelong. "Did you maybe want to –"

"_That_ was some show, Weasley," Draco's voice cut in, and she looked to her left to see him striding over. "It –" He caught sight of Harry sitting next to her, and his lips pursed with immediate distaste. "Potter," he said.

Harry straightened, green eyes narrowed slightly. "Malfoy," he replied. A beat of silence, then, "I should probably get back to Ron," he said, standing. "He looks about ready to go drown himself."

"Would be doing us all a favor," Draco murmured not so subtly, and Harry glared.

"See you later, Ginny," he said, moving off.

Draco sank down beside her. "You two are ridiculous," she said. "And you shouldn't scowl like that – it doesn't become you," she added teasingly.

"Merlin," he replied, "so many insults. And I was coming over to compliment you on your excellent acting abilities." She cocked an eyebrow. "Back there with Blaise."

"Oh, right. I almost felt bad for manipulating her," she mused.

"But only almost?" he asked, smirking.

"She wasn't exactly the _sweetest_ girl I've ever met."

"Well, you've done your part."

"Now it's all up to him."

Draco laughed. "Doesn't look like he's having any trouble," he said amusedly, nudging her. She followed his gaze to where Blaise and Samantha Vaisey were snogging on the dance floor, her arms looped around his neck. As they watched, she tugged on his arm, and he followed her out of the hall. "Seems like –"

Just then, the band started up with a new song, and Draco paused mid-sentence, making a face. "Merlin, what the hell _is_ this racket? Did we hire this bloody band off the street?"

"Are you kidding? It's the _Weird Sisters_. Although," she added, "I suppose you don't listen to the popular music of the _lower classes_."

He laughed. "Exactly. And apparently I'm not missing anything." He winced as the Myron Wagtail belted a particularly high-pitched strain. "Merlin, let's get out of here. A couple more seconds and I'll be deaf."

She shook her head at him amusedly but took his outstretched hand and let him lead her out of the Great Hall.

"You really do look good," he said, eyeing her up and down as they meandered through the corridors.

She grinned. "All thanks to you," she replied, gesturing to her dress. "And not too bad yourself, by the way." She nodded appreciatively to his dress robes. "New?"

"Of course."

She laughed and rolled her eyes at him. "Wait – I think the music's pretty faded out from here."

They had come to one of the castle's open courtyards, which had been decorated for the occasion with sparkling silver garlands draped around the hedges and pretty fairy lanterns hanging from the tree branches. It had also obviously been heated – Ginny found she didn't need a coat as she stepped out into the night air.

A pair of Ravenclaws was giggling in the far corner and Ginny avoided them, making a significant face in Draco's direction. He laughed as he shed his suit jacket and laid it across a nearby stone bench.

"So who was the girl you were dancing with earlier?" she asked, kicking off her heels and stepping up onto the low stone wall that fenced off the more delicate plants. She balanced on the narrow space and began to walk slowly along it.

"Marcia Gamp." He rolled up his shirtsleeves around his forearms and leaned back against the wall to watch her, his elbows resting in the window ledge.

"Mmm," she said thoughtfully.

"Did you dance with anyone else, or did Blaise monopolize you?" he asked.

"Nah, I danced one with Cedric, and one with Neville," she replied, counting off on her fingers. "I figured I owed him one after Blaise and the idiot goons made fun of him for asking me."

Draco snorted. "Ah, right – I heard about that. Surprised he had the guts."

"Well, you know Gryffindors. They're all –"

"Sanctimonious gits?" he put in, smirking.

She laughed. "Oh, and some Ravenclaw called Corner who has a very high opinion of their Quidditch team." She rolled her eyes at the memory of _that _conversation. "_So_," she continued after a moment's pause, "how much do you reckon I can charge Blaise for my help making _that_ happen." She gestured back toward the hall.

He considered. "Depends how far he gets," he replied speculatively. "But at least a couple chocolate frogs and an unspecified favor at a later date."

She shook her head and grinned. "The things I do for you two."

"_Excuse_ me," Draco said, feigning offense. "I don't recall ever needing your help getting a good snog."

"Speaking of which," she said, hopping off the wall and stepping back into her heels. She turned to face him, arms crossed. "What happened with Pansy and why didn't you tell me about it?"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "It's really not a big deal. Apparently she wants to go out with Pucey now – more power to her."

"And you honestly don't care, do you?" she asked, reading his expression. He shrugged again and nodded, and she barked out a laugh, rolling her eyes.

"Is that disapproval I detect?" he asked, sounding amused.

"Hardly, I just find it hard to believe that you can snog someone for ages and not care when they call it off. Honestly – you and Blaise flirt with absolutely everything that moves, and –"

"Well I wouldn't say _everything_ that moves," he cut in, laughing now. "Wait – me and _Blaise_ –"Suddenly, his expression changed and his eyes widened. "_Merlin_, you like him, don't you?"

She shot him a condescending look. "Of course not," she scoffed. "I've seen how he treats girls."

"Right," he said slowly. "You're not an idiot." His gray eyes tracked her expression, and she glared as understanding dawned across his face. "But you _did_ want him to snog you, didn't you, Weasley?"

She rolled her eyes and tried to avoid his gaze, but she knew it was useless – he knew her too well.

"Hoping he'd follow through on one of his comments?" Draco continued. He grinned, obviously enjoying her discomfort.

"Gods, you're insufferable," she groaned, pacing over to one side of their corner of the courtyard.

"Wanted to get your first kiss out of the way?"

"Oh, sod off, Malfoy!"

"You know," he continued, as if he hadn't heard. He pushed himself off the wall. "I'm offended you didn't come to me. I'd be happy to do the honors, you know. I'm very good. I can provide references."

She rolled her eyes as he stepped toward her. "One reference."

"Two, actually. There was a girl at a party over the summer. But anyway, it's about quality, not quantity."

"Didn't tell me about Pansy, didn't tell me about this summer girl…why all the secrets, Malfoy?" she asked, trying to smirk casually as he stopped with just inches between them. "It's like I don't even know you anymore."

"You know me. Though," he added with a mischievous, tinkling laugh, "not as well as you'll know me in about fifteen seconds."

He reached out and ran his fingers along her jawline, sending a shiver tingling across her skin. She met his eyes – they were dark as mercury, and the expression in them made her chest tighten. What the _hell_ was he doing?

"Stop looking at me like that," she said.

"Like what?" he asked softly.

"Like I'm –"

"Beautiful?" he cut in smoothly.

Her breath hitched, and she exhaled sharply. "Touche, Draco – that was a spectacular line," she said, trying to laugh it off. "I was going to _say_ 'like I'm a piece of meat.'"

"You're not a piece of meat." He leaned in a little closer, and she felt the stone wall brush lightly against her back.

"Thanks for the update," she said, swallowing as he cupped her cheek. "I think –"

"Gin?"

He was smirking, and she realized that it took some effort to tear her eyes away from his lips. "Yeah?" she breathed.

"Shut up," he murmured.

And he kissed her.

For a full second, her mind went completely blank as his lips pressed gently against hers. His lips were full, and a little chapped, and….

And then everything that was happening rushed back at her, and she realized that she really ought to stop him _right this second_, because it was an incredibly bad idea to be kissing her best friend and what the _hell _did he think he was doing, anyway? But then the hand that was cupping her cheek slid back so that his long fingers tangled in the hair just behind her ear, and she started to kiss him back.

He was _far _too good at this, and she was enjoying it _far_ too much to stop him.

He smiled against her mouth as she responded, skimming his other palm over her hip and to the small of her back to pull her closer. His tongue traced her bottom lip, and she realized that he tasted of fruit punch with the slightest trace of mint lingering beneath the surface.

All too soon, he was pulling away, and Ginny noted with a twinge of self-satisfaction that he was breathing just as hard as she was. He rested his forehead against hers. "Not bad for a first kiss, right?" he breathed.

"Oh, I don't know," she murmured back. She smiled lightly, meeting his eyes, which were still deep, deep gray. "I think you could have put in a _little _more effort."

He chuckled and opened his mouth to respond, but a sudden sharp voice ripped them violently back to reality.

"MR. MALFOY!" Draco stepped away from her, and Ginny looked up to see Professor Snape standing several feet away, a sour look on his face and his arms crossed over his chest. His wand tapped threateningly against left elbow. Igor Karkaroff was standing a little behind him, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

"Mr. Malfoy," Snape said, sneering, "I suggest that you and Miss Weasley take your…revelries…somewhere less _public_. I am sorely tempted to take points from my own House."

Ginny pursed her lips, trying to contain the sudden laughter that bubbled up inside her at the ridiculousness of the situation. Draco straightened, and Ginny could tell that he was struggling to contain himself too. "That," he paused, pushing down a smile, "won't be…." He snorted. "…necessary…." _Laugh_. "…Professor."

"Well?" Snape said sharply, arching an eyebrow, and Draco nodded emphatically.

"Right," Ginny said, laughing uncontrollably now, and she grabbed Draco's hand, pulling him out of the courtyard and away down the corridor.

* * *

><p>They were at the top of the steps leading down to the dungeons when Draco pulled up short. "Shit," he swore. "I forgot my jacket. Hang on, all right?"<p>

Ginny nodded, and he took off back through the corridors. The giggling Ravenclaws had gone – probably scared off by Snape, Draco thought amusedly – and for a moment, he thought the courtyard was empty. He spotted his jacket lying on the bench and slung it over his shoulder, but just as he was turning to go, he heard low voices coming from the other side of a tall hedge nearby.

"_I don't understand why you're taking this so lightly, Severus!_" Draco recognized the voice – it was Karkaroff – and he paused.

"I am _not_ taking it lightly, Igor," Professor Snape replied. He sounded frustrated.

"Our Marks are burning, the debacle at the World Cup, and now someone's put the Potter boy's name in the Goblet…." Karkaroff was panicked, and despite himself, Draco felt his heart start pounding hard in his chest. This reminded him too much of his father after the World Cup. "_Wait_," Karkaroff said suddenly. "You don't think – you don't think Victor is in danger do you? You don't think someone will try to booby trap one of the tasks?"

"No, I do _not_, Igor!" Snape snapped. "This tournament has security up to its nose…you don't think someone would have _noticed_ a Dark wizard lurking around?"

"I suppose, but, Severus, what about the –"

"_Shh!_" Snape said suddenly, and Draco froze. A pause, then, "I thought I heard something…."

As quickly as he could, Draco slipped from the courtyard and out of sight, but his mind was racing with what he'd heard.

Ginny was waiting where he'd left her, and she noticed immediately that he was distracted. Her wide smile faltered. "What's wrong?" she asked concernedly.

He shook himself. "Nothing," he replied, forcing a smile onto his face. She didn't look like she was buying it.

They descended into the familiar green glow of the dungeons, and Draco turned to her as they entered the Common Room. "So?" he asked brightly. "What's the verdict?"

Ginny sighed theatrically and ran a hand through her hair. "Loathe as I am to admit it, it seems that Pansy has taught you well."

"I like to think it was raw talent," he replied, smirking.

"Charming, as always," she answered wryly. "You should get another snogging partner as soon as possible," she continued, shooting him a teasing grin. "No sense keeping all that raw talent to yourself."

He laughed, and she surprised him by leaning toward him and planting an affectionate kiss to his temple. She ruffled his hair as she pulled away, just because she knew he hated it. "Good night, Draco," she said, smiling widely.

"Night, Gin," he replied, and then she disappeared up the girls' staircase.

* * *

><p>Ginny was woken the next morning by Bridget's high-pitched voice filtering in from outside the curtains of her bed.<p>

"And _then_, she left with Malfoy – no one knows where they went, but wherever it was, they were _alone_."

"They're _always _alone together, Bridge," Rachel replied, sounding unimpressed.

"Not when she's on a date with Zabini!" Bridget insisted.

"True," Rachel said slowly. There was a significant pause, then, "_Merlin_, what _is _it about her? She's so damn lucky! There are a grand total of two fanciable boys in that whole year, and she goes to the Ball with one of them and leaves with the other!"

"I _know_, it's –"

Ginny pulled back her curtains and climbed out of bed.

"Ginny!"

She shot them an amused look. "Carry on," she said. "Don't mind me."

"We're not going to get anything out of you, are we?" Rachel said mournfully.

"Unfortunately, no," Ginny replied, grabbing her wand and heading into the loo.

She showered slowly, letting steam fill the room, then dressed in loose pants and a t-shirt before heading downstairs. Most of the House had been out late, so even though it was nearly noon, the Common Room was full of students lounging across the sofas and armchairs.

She spotted Blaise and Draco in their usual corner and strode over, collapsing onto the sofa beside Draco and folding her legs under herself. "Morning," she said lightly.

"Morning," Draco replied, handing her his mug. She peered inside – hot chocolate – and took a long swig. "You're just in time. I was just about to lecture Zabini here about the wonders of Silencing Charms."

Blaise laughed. "I'm _sorry_, mate. I forgot in the moment."

Ginny raised her eyebrows at him. "I take it that things went well after you and Samantha left."

"I don't want to bore you with the details," he replied, smirking.

"Bit late for that. I think I heard enough details to last a lifetime," Draco groaned. Blaise threw a pillow at him, which he caught with an easy laugh. He turned to Ginny. "Suffice it to say that our little Blaise is now a real man."

Ginny tipped the mug to Blaise. "Congratulations, Zabini."

"And it's all thanks to you," Blaise replied.

"I'm expecting a box of chocolate frogs for my trouble," she quipped.

Blaise laughed, sitting back and draping his arms over the back of his sofa.

"So, did you two have a good rest of the night?" he asked.

Draco smirked, and spoke without missing a beat. "I know Ginny did."

Ginny aimed a kick at his shin, and Blaise looked confused.

"Ow!" Draco said sharply. "Oh, come _on_, Weasley," he laughed. "You have to let me tell _Zabini_."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Please review! I've been writing this instead of studying for the final that I have _tomorrow_, so please make it worthwhile by reviewing :)

Question of the chapter: **If you won a million dollars, what's the first thing you would buy?**

Can't wait to hear what you all think!


	17. The Lake and the Maze

**Chapter 17: The Lake and the Maze**

"And then we went back to the dungeons and went to bed." Ginny flipped the page of the enormous library book propped open across her lap and ran her finger down the page, eyes narrowed.

Cedric arched an eyebrow skeptically. "Separately?"

"Yes, _separately_," she replied, shooting him a stern glare. "Merlin, why are you giving me that look?"

"What look?"

She gestured to his expression and made a huffy sound. "_That_ look."

He laughed and leaned his head back against the wall. They were sitting on the floor in a back corner of the library, hidden from Madame Pince's darting eyes by several rows of book stacks. "I just find it hard to believe that you and Malfoy kissed and are just carrying on as if nothing happened," Cedric said.

"A kiss doesn't have to _mean _anything," she replied.

"Well, that's cynical."

"Honest," she corrected with a smirk. She shrugged casually. "So I kissed my best friend – it's really not a big deal."

"Wait a second," Cedric said, grinning and nudging her with his shoe. "Here I thought I was at least in the running for best friend."

Ginny snorted and nudged him back. "Sorry, Ced – I've been friends with him longer."

"Hey! My mum brought me to that party your parents threw your first week home from St. Mungo's!"

"Family get-togethers don't count," she said. He opened his mouth, and she cut him off, "And neither does being friends with my brothers."

He sighed theatrically, and she grinned and glanced sidelong at the book he was flipping through. "Found anything?" she asked.

"Nah, this book's useless." He pushed it aside and picked up the next one in the small stack beside him. "At this point, I've come to terms with the fact that I'm going to drown in the lake."

"Well I haven't," she quipped. "Here – look at this." She shifted to show him a spell printed in her tome. "Could be good, right?"

* * *

><p><em>A month later, February 23rd<em>

Ginny twirled some spaghetti around her fork and took a bite. It was dinnertime the night before the Second Task, and as she washed the pasta down with a sip of pumpkin juice, she looked over at the Hufflepuff table over the top of her glass. Cedric looked paler than usual, and Cho was sitting beside him, stroking his arm soothingly.

Blaise, who was sitting across the table, followed her gaze. "So, Weasley, is pretty boy ready for tomorrow?"

Ginny smiled. "He's ready," she said confidently.

"Better be," Draco said. "I saw Krum practicing hexes by the Quidditch pitch earlier. _He _looks ready."

"Hexes won't be much use if he can't breathe," she replied.

"Fair," he said with a laugh.

"Speaking of which," Blaise said, grinning. "Goyle saw Potter and Granger in the library yesterday – they've finally figured out the clue, but looks like Scarface _still_ doesn't have a plan for breathing. Come tomorrow, he may finally do us all a favor and die already."

Ginny shrugged and swallowed another bite. "I don't know…." she mused. "The-Boy-Who-Finally-Did-Us-All-a-Favor-and-Died-Already? Doesn't have quite the same ring to it as The-Boy-Who-Lived."

"No?" Blaise asked, laughing aloud. "I like it."

Draco grinned and nodded. "Mmm…it's almost poetic."

Ginny snorted, shaking her head at them amusedly. She opened her mouth to comment, but was interrupted by a tap on her shoulder. A First Year Ginny didn't recognize stood before her, looking nervous. She raised her eyebrows at him. When he just swallowed and shifted awkwardly, Blaise made an impatient sound. "Spit it out, will you?"

He started and flushed. "Professor Dumbledore wants to see you," he said finally, meeting Ginny's eyes for a second. "He said as soon as you're done with your dinner."

Ginny's brow furrowed. What could Dumbledore want? But she just replied, "Right, thanks," and he scurried off.

"Merlin," Blaise said, turning to Ginny before the boy had even gotten out of hearing range, "why do all the First Year boys act like bumbling idiots around you?"

"Because they all fancy her," Draco said, slinging an arm around Ginny's shoulder. "It's actually quite embarrassing – they're Slytherins…they should have a little more dignity."

"Like you've never fancied a girl and acted like a complete moron around her," Ginny scoffed, rolling her eyes at him.

"Never," Draco insisted. He nodded to Blaise. "Ask him."

Blaise nodded confirmation. "Draco Malfoy has never acted like a moron because he fancied a girl."

"What's wrong with you?" Ginny asked, aiming a light kick at Draco's shin. "I acted idiotic around Potter. _Don't _–" She shot them both a stern glare. "–_say a word_." They both smirked, but stayed silent, and she continued. "Even _Blaise_ acted moronic about Samantha."

"Hey! Name one moronic thing I did because of Vaisey."

She started to list something off, but Draco cut in, looking smug. "You let me be the one to kiss Ginny here."

"True, true," Blaise said, a teasing smirk on his lips.

"How sweet," she commented, rolling her eyes and nudging her knee against Draco's thigh. "All right," she said finally, taking a last swig of pumpkin juice and pushing off the bench and out from under his arm. "I better go see Dumbledore. See you back at the Common Room."

Professor Dumbledore was standing at the back of his office when she arrived. He was leaning over a large stone basin, which was filled with some kind of reflective liquid. His wand was at his temple, and a shimmering substance, like spun silver, trailed from its tip. She knocked lightly on the open door, and he looked up, causing the silver thread to break off suddenly. He lowered it into the basin.

"Miss Weasley," the professor said, smiling over to her. "Please, have a seat." He caught her glancing curiously at the basin as he stowed it carefully away. "A Pensieve," he said. "It can hold some of a wizard's most important possessions."

Ginny raised her eyebrows, picturing the silver substance. "His ideas?" she guessed.

Dumbledore's smile widened. "A clever suggestion, but unfortunately incorrect. A Pensieve holds a wizard's memories."

"Oh," she replied awkwardly, her eyes tracking the headmaster as he seated himself across from her and folded his hands on his desk. She still had no idea what she was doing here.

"Well, to business," he said. "As I'm sure you know, the Second Task will take place tomorrow morning."

Ginny nodded. "Of course."

"I'm aware that you've been helping Mr. Diggory solve the riddle of the golden egg," Dumbledore continued, "so I hope you'll bear with me. Some of what I'm about to say may be…review." He smiled brightly. "Tomorrow, the Champions will be expected to swim into the Black Lake, where they will have one hour to recover something that has been taken from them, something that is very important to them."

Ginny continued nodding. She and Cedric had figured this all out already and had spent the last several weeks trying to figure out a spell that would allow him to breathe underwater for an hour. They'd finally found one two weeks ago, and Cedric had been practicing and perfecting it ever since. He was ready, she thought confidently.

Dumbledore was still speaking. "This belonging will be another individual." Ginny started at that. Another individual? "The other professors and I have identified the one fellow student about whom each Champion cares most deeply. Later this evening, those four students will be called into my office, where they will be placed under a spell that will put them into a deep sleep. They will then be brought to the bottom of the lake, where they will be tethered down by the merpeople. The Champions will need to reclaim their respective fellow students before the hour is up."

"Professor, I'm not sure why you're telling me this," Ginny said.

"Well, Miss Weasley, you have been identified as the person here at Hogwarts about whom Mr. Diggory cares most deeply."

Ginny's eyes widened. "I – me?" Dumbledore nodded, and after a moment, she recovered herself. "He has a girlfriend – Cho Chang, in Ravenclaw. I think she might be a more…appropriate choice."

Dumbledore smiled. "The other professors and I considered Miss Chang, of course. But we agreed upon _you_."

"I…er, I see."

"And I brought you here to ask you if you are comfortable serving as Mr. Diggory's 'bait,' as it were. You will awaken as soon as you break the surface of the water, and I would, of course, like to assure you, that no matter what your Champion does, whether he succeeds or fails, you will be perfectly safe."

Ginny's brow furrowed. "And you're asking each of the four students individually?"

"Not exactly," he said. "I will be inviting the four students up as a group later this evening, but I thought, given the traumatic events of your First Year, that you might have some objections. I wanted to give you the opportunity to refuse privately." He steepled his fingers. "I would understand completely if you wanted to be in full control of your body at all times."

"Right," Ginny said slowly. She appreciated that Dumbledore was concerned about her, but she balked at the implication that she couldn't handle it. And anyway, was he really comparing an hour under a sleeping spell to being possessed by Lord Voldemort? "Well, I'm fine with it."

Dumbledore nodded, considering her from behind his half-moon spectacles. "All right, then. I will be inviting the other students here at eight thirty this evening. Please come back at that time."

Ginny started to get out of her chair. "If you don't mind, Miss Weasley," Dumbledore said. "I'll need to cast an Arcanum Charm on you. For the next two hours, you will be unable to share any of the information you've just learned with any of the Champions. The charm will expand automatically to include anyone else you may tell," he added rather sternly.

She nodded, and he raised his wand. "_Arcanum_," he murmured, and Ginny felt a comfortable warmth spread across her scalp and down to the base of her neck.

With a last tight smile, she left the Headmaster's office.

* * *

><p>Draco was lounging in the Common Room with Blaise, Samantha, and Marcia Gamp when Ginny arrived back. He could tell something important had happened at Dumbledore's office as soon as she came into the room, and his eyes tracked her as she made a beeline for his sofa.<p>

"Draco, is something wrong?" Marcia asked, placing a hand on his forearm.

"No, nothing," he said slowly. "Hey, Gin."

Ginny ran a hand lightly across his shoulder and jerked her head toward the boys' staircase. "Quick word?" she asked.

He met her eyes searchingly for a moment, eyebrows raised, then turned to smile at Marcia. "Excuse me for a second."

He stood and followed Ginny up the staircase and straight into the Fourth Year dormitory. It was conveniently empty, though if someone _had_ been in there, he and Ginny would have just told them to get out.

"What happened with Dumbledore?" he asked.

She leaned back against one of the posts of his bed and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "I have an expanding Arcanum Charm on me, so expect to feel the effects once I tell you," she said. He nodded. "For the Second Task," she continued, "the Champions are going to have to swim to the bottom of the lake to retrieve the fellow student they care about the most, who will be under a sleeping spell and tethered down there by merpeople."

Draco's eyebrows went up to his hairline, and he ran a hand instinctively across his scalp as the Arcanum's warmth traveled down to his neck. Ginny didn't pause. "Dumbledore just told me that I'm supposed to be the 'bait,' or whatever you want to call it, for Cedric, and the other students and I are going to be put under the sleeping spell tonight at eight thirty." She sank back onto his bed and met his eyes. "I figured I ought to tell you so you don't start panicking when I disappear."

He laughed wryly at that. "You know I worry."

"I know you worry," she affirmed, smiling.

"Right," he said, "that's a lot of information to process." He paused. "Couldn't they have just taken their favorite quills or something?"

She laughed. "I know. I had no idea Dumbledore had such a flair for dramatics."

Draco's mind was racing. Two scenes kept playing over and over in his head.

The thin strip of light filtering out from beneath the library door, and his father's voice saying, "_Someone_ _is willing to take this much further than we are…someone is trying to bring him back_."

And the darkness of the courtyard, just a few weeks before, and Karkaroff's voice, high with panic, squeaking out: "_Our Marks are burning, the debacle at the World Cup, and now someone's put the Potter boy's name in the Goblet…. Wait, you don't think – you don't think Viktor's is in danger, do you? You don't think someone will try to booby trap one of the tasks._"

He knew that after that last one, Professor Snape had said something reassuring, something about Tournament security and safety, but as much as he concentrated, Draco couldn't seem to bring _those_ words to mind. He just kept hearing his father and Karkaroff.

"You can't do it," he said suddenly. It sounded like a command, and he saw Ginny bristle, eyebrows arching, but he just set his jaw and met her eyes. "You shouldn't," he amended.

"Why not?" she asked, sitting up a little straighter.

He sighed. He didn't really had a solid, rational reason, he realized – just Karkaroff's unsubstantiated fears about booby-trapped tasks and a bad feeling. "The night of the Yule Ball, I heard Karkaroff talking to Snape. He was worried that someone might have put Potter's name in because they planned on tampering with one of the tasks."

She looked at him skeptically. "Seems a bit roundabout, doesn't it?"

He rolled his eyes. "From the same person who possessed you, unleashed a basilisk on the whole school, and then had you fake your own kidnapping in order to lure Potter into the Chamber? Doesn't seem too out of character, actually."

She hedged, and he knew he'd gone too far, too fast. "So this is about the Chamber, then?"

"It's not…."

"No? Because it doesn't seem like you have much else to go on."

"You're being difficult," he sighed.

"And _you're_ being overprotective."

His lips pressed together in annoyance. "It'll be fine, Draco," she said more gently. "Aren't you the one who told me that I have to carry on with my life? I can't go around avoiding any situation that reminds either of us of Tom or the diary or the Chamber."

He opened his mouth to protest that it really didn't have anything to do with the Chamber, but he could tell that she wouldn't believe him, so he just exhaled heavily and shook his head. "Dumbledore said they're taking safety precautions?"

"Of course they are."

"You better make sure Diggory manages to get you back from those bloody merpeople. They're vicious," he said sternly.

She grinned. "I'm pretty sure I'll be asleep and consequently about as useful as a dead dingbat, but I'll try my best."

"Gods, you're a frustrating bint sometimes, you know that?" he said, running a hand over his face.

She laughed. "You're frustrating too, you annoying git."

* * *

><p>The next morning, Draco walked down to the lake with the rest of the House, and as they all found places in the high viewing boxes, his eyes darted from Karkaroff, who looked nervous, to Snape, who looked grim, and back again. If they had discovered anything out of the ordinary, they would have told Dumbledore by now, he thought, shaking himself. But his gaze flicked to the inky black surface of the lake – this would be a perfect task to tamper with; all of the Champions could die down there, and no one would even know until the bodies floated to the surface. He clenched his fists hard inside the pockets of his robes.<p>

"Merlin, mate," Blaise said from beside him, his lips twitching with an amused smile, "relax, will you? You're wound so tight you're giving _me_ a headache. I'm sure she's perfectly _fine_."

Draco shot him a peeved look. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been this on edge…probably the World Cup, when Ginny had been missing. _Why the hell was she always getting herself into dangerous situations?_ he thought with completely irrational annoyance.

"Oh, so this is about _Weasley_ again, is it?" Pansy's voice was dripping with her trademark derisiveness. "This is getting rather embarrassing, Draco."

"Just shut up, Parkinson," he snapped.

She smirked. "Touchy, touchy."

"Speaking of touchy," Blaise put in, "shouldn't you be off with Pucey? He's probably lost without you slobbering all over him."

Pansy glared, but Blaise just cocked an eyebrow at her. After a moment, she turned and stormed angrily away.

"_Thank you_ for getting rid of her," Draco murmured appreciatively, pulling his fists from his pockets to lean his elbows on the railing.

"She's right," Blaise said. "This _is_ getting rather embarrassing, but I'm the only one who's allowed to say that. Me and maybe Weasley."

Draco smiled wryly. "Fair enough."

For the next hour, Draco stared blankly at the lake, nodding agreement to Blaise's comments about the complete pointlessness of coming to watch a task in which all the action was happening underwater. When the hour ticked by and none of the Champions had surfaced, he began to imagine worst-case-scenarios despite himself. He should have just forbidden Ginny from going down there when Diggory's _girlfriend_ could have done just as well. It would have been one thing if she could have defended herself from danger – Ginny was more than capable with a wand, he _knew_ that – but she was _asleep_. But if he'd said _any_ of that (especially the part about _forbidding_ her), she would have used her _capable_ wand hand to make bats fly out of his nose. _Frustrating bint_.

Then, the surface of the water broke several yards away. The first thing he could make out was Ginny's copper hair, darkened by the water, and that hair was suddenly spraying water in all directions as she regained consciousness. The cheers were deafening.

He felt relief fill his chest.

Diggory surfaced beside her, and by the position of their bodies in the water, Draco could tell that his arm was around her waist, helping her stay afloat.

Hagrid helped them both out of the water and Madame Pomfrey wrapped some blue-colored blankets around their bodies, and Ginny and Diggory, both beaming, exchanged a couple of words before she flung herself into his arms. Some of the spectators let out catcalls, and Draco, who suddenly found that he could give an easy smile, shook his head amusedly.

Blaise let out a sharp laugh. "Look at pretty boy's girlfriend," he chuckled, gesturing to the Ravenclaw girl a few boxes away. She looked distinctly uncomfortable at the display, and as he watched, she crossed her arms angrily. Blaise whistled lowly. "Weasley better watch her back."

* * *

><p><em>A few nights later<em>

Ginny was sitting next to Draco in the Common Room, her back resting casually against his chest and his arm draped over the back of the sofa. Her Divination essay was half-finished on her lap, and Draco was flipping carelessly through his History of Magic textbook. Across from them, Blaise was looking through a catalog of high-end Quidditch gear.

"Malfoy," he said, "do you think you can get your dad to buy the team new uniforms for next year?"

Draco leaned forward, eyes skimming the glossy page. He shrugged. "Probably. Why, you think we need them?"

"Why not?" Blaise mused. "And anyway," he added mischievously, "Weasley's bum would look fantastic in custom-made pants, and we all know how much you like to look at that."

Draco laughed aloud. "I do like to look at your arse," he said, glancing cheekily at her.

She rolled her eyes, smirking. "If those pants fit better than the crap we wear now, you can look all you want."

Blaise chuckled and flipped the catalog page just as a group of giggling Second Year girls entered the Common Room. "Weasley," one of them called to her across the room. She was the blonde, pretty one…Daphne's little sister. "Cedric Diggory's outside. He said he wants to speak to you."

Blaise's eyebrows went up to his hairline. "What the hell does pretty boy want at…," he glanced at the clock on the other side of the room, "…nine thirty?"

"Probably just our usual late-night snog," she deadpanned.

"Shouldn't say that too loud," Draco teased. "After your little display at the lake, half the school believes it already, and Chang might rip your head off if more rumors go around."

Ginny rolled her eyes, remembering her less-than-friendly run-in with Cho two days ago. She set her essay on the coffee table and pulled her jumper, which she'd tossed over the end of the sofa, over her head as she headed out of the room.

Cedric was waiting, arms crossed, in the dungeon outside, and he shot her an angry glare as soon as she stepped through the wall. Her brow furrowed. "What's wrong, Ced?" she asked slowly.

"Did you say something to Cho?" he said flatly.

She sighed and rolled her eyes. So _that's _what this was about. "Yes, I talked to her a few days ago," she answered.

"Did you imply that there was," he waved his hand between them, "something going on with us?"

"Of course not," she replied. She let out a little laugh. "Look, if she took what I said the wrong way –"

"What _exactly_ did you say to her, Ginny?" he cut her off. "Because whatever it was, we just had a massive row about it." She felt a jolt of annoyance, coupled with surprise; Cedric was fairly even-keel, and she'd never seen him angry before.

"She came up to me after dinner two days ago," she replied, matching his glare, "and accused me of spreading those stupid rumors. I told her that would be a silly thing for me to have done, seeing as you're four bloody years older than me and I have absolutely _no_ interest in you whatsoever. She obviously didn't believe me."

Cedric set his jaw. "And…," he prompted.

She rolled her eyes. "_And_ then she demanded to know why I let them use me as your bait instead of her…something about how she's your girlfriend and it's _obvious_ that she's the person you care about the most." Ginny paused and shrugged. "She was getting on my last nerve, so I just told her…," she thought for a moment. "I think my exact words were 'apparently not.'" She smirked at the memory. It had been a rather low blow, judging by the way Draco and Blaise, who had been with her, had snorted and laughed outright, respectively, but it had gotten Cho to storm off angrily and leave her in peace.

Now she shrugged. "Sorry she's taking it out on you," she said.

Cedric was regarding her angrily, shaking his head. "You can't just _say_ things like that, Ginny!" he said earnestly, obviously trying to keep his voice down. "Merlin!"

Ginny folded her arms. "What?" she challenged. "It's true, isn't it? Apparently she's _not_ the person you care about the most."

"Well you didn't have to rub it in her face, did you?" he snapped, and now she could feel anger bubbling in her chest. "This has been hard on her! You and I spend a lot of time together, and her not getting picked for the task, and now all these stupid bloody rumors…."

"Just because your girlfriend's irrationally jealous –"

"No, it's _not_ irrational, Ginny! I think most girls would react just like she is, especially with the way you –" He stopped short, and Ginny arched an eyebrow at him.

"The way I what, Ced?" she asked sharply.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Nevermind."

"No, say it," she insisted. "The way I what?"

"The way you are with your other male friends…with Malfoy and Zabini."

Her eyes narrowed. "What exactly is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"You're always touching them, they're always touching you…." He trailed off, then shot her a significant look. "You _kiss_ them."

Ginny snapped. "Oh, for fuck's sake, Ced, that's completely beside the point. Frankly, how I act around Malfoy and Zabini is none of Chang's business, and if she can't take a comeback, then she shouldn't throw the first punch. Tell her to develop thicker skin."

"Well excuse her for being a little sensitive to underhanded comments," Cedric returned, face red. "We can't all be Slytherins."

She shot him a withering glare. "Yeah," she murmured derisively. "_Apparently not_."

And with that, she turned on her heel, hissed the password, and stormed back into the Common Room.

* * *

><p><em>About four months later, June 23rd<em>

Ginny lay flat on her back on Draco's bed, staring up at his canopy. Draco was beside her, arms folded behind his head, and Blaise was standing by his trunk a few feet away, surveying its contents. Tomorrow was the last day of term, and Ginny supposed that her coming up to the boys' dormitory to lounge around while they packed (or at least moved their belongings around aimlessly) was becoming a bit of a tradition.

This time, though, she was hopelessly distracted. Tomorrow was also the date of the final Triwizard task. Before the last task, she'd been completely confident that Cedric would do well, largely because she'd helped him prepare and knew he was ready. But she hadn't spoken so much as a word to him since their row in the dungeons four months ago, so she really had no idea how prepared he was this time.

Outside, the grounds were dark, and through the window, she could see the stars twinkling brightly in the clear night sky. More and more noise was filtering in through the open dormitory door as students came back to the Common Room. She figured it was probably after hours by now.

"What's wrong with you?" Blaise said suddenly, and she was jolted from her thoughts to find him looking over at her, one eyebrow arched. She rolled her eyes, reaching for the nearest object (a dark green shirt) and throwing it at him.

He caught it easily, then grinned. "Thanks, I was looking for this. Seriously, though, what's wrong with you?"

"Final task tomorrow," Draco said shortly, without even looking at them.

"You think you know me so well," she grumbled.

Now he turned his head to grin at her. "Don't I?"

"No," she said flatly.

He just grinned wider. "Right."

She scowled back at him before pushing herself up off the bed, feeling suddenly restless. "I'm going for a walk," she said abruptly.

"After hours," Blaise commented.

"Like that's ever stopped any of us," she quipped. Blaise gave a shrug, chuckling. She paused at the bottom of Draco's bed and rummaged in his trunk, lifting out one of his jumpers. "Can I borrow this?"

"Mhm," he said carelessly, flipping onto his stomach and reaching for something on his bedside table as she left the room.

She made it out of the castle without incident and started across the grounds, pulling Draco's jumper over her head as she went. He'd grown a lot over the past year, and it was far too big for her.

Even when she walked out of the pool of warm orange light filtering out from the castle doors, the night was relatively bright. A full moon was high in the sky, and by its light, she wandered up to the edge of the lake and began skirting the water, deep in thought. She didn't see the figure lying on the ground until she'd nearly tripped over it.

"_Merlin_, Ginny, you scared me!" She looked down to see Cedric stretched out before her, holding his lit wand above him.

"What are you doing out here?" she asked, startled.

"I could ask you the same," he returned, pushing himself up onto his elbows. "It's after hours."

She rolled her eyes, smirking. "Ever the Prefect," she replied teasingly, but then she wondered if he was being serious. They hadn't been on speaking terms for months, after all. She paused, considering this, but then Cedric cut in.

"Just trying to gather my thoughts before the big day tomorrow."

"Ah."

He met her eyes. "Want to…?" He nodded to the ground beside him, and she only hesitated for a second before sinking down. He flopped back onto his back, and she did the same, tilting her chin up to get a better look at the starry sky above them.

"It's so nice out tonight," he said.

"Yeah," she replied.

They lay in silence for a while. Ginny could hear him breathing steadily, slowly.

"Want to know a secret?" Cedric asked finally, still staring straight up ahead.

"Sure."

"I'm nervous about tomorrow."

She breathed a laugh. "I'd be worried if you _weren't _nervous. You'll be fine, though. You've been fine for both of the others."

"I don't know," he murmured. "I just have a…bad feeling, or something. Is that a load of bollocks?"

She grinned. "Of course it is."

He shifted a bit and turned to look at her, expression serious. "People have died in the Tournament before."

She sobered. "Yeah, years and years ago. People also used to make plates out of lead and use arsenic to improve their complexions. We've learned some lessons since then, I think."

"Finally been reading your Muggle Studies textbook, I see," he said, raising his eyebrows and nudging her shoe teasingly.

She grinned. "Well," she replied, nudging him back, "I've had a lot of extra time recently." Since I haven't been helping you prep for the final task, she wanted to add, but she held her tongue.

"I'm sorry," he said suddenly. Apparently he'd had the same thought.

"For what?"

"For cutting you out like that."

She exhaled, then met his eyes. "I guess I rather had it coming. I shouldn't have pissed off your girlfriend. _I'm _sorry about _that_."

"And all that stuff I said about you and your friends…none of my business, honestly."

Ginny felt the sudden urge to laugh. "Well, if I'd known it was going to be this easy, I would have come and found you months ago."

Cedric snorted. "Nah, I needed to brood about it a bit. I don't get worked up very often, but when I do I always need a while to get over it."

She nodded, hugging Draco's jumper closer around herself as a breeze blew over them. "Slow to burn, slow to smother?"

"Something like that," he said, grinning.

They lapsed back into silence, but it felt easier now, less heavy.

"How is Cho, by the way?" she asked.

"Good," he answered, smiling. He paused, then, "I think…I think I might be in love with her. Is that far too cheesy for the ears of the ever-cynical Ginny Weasley?"

"Big word," she replied, smirking.

"Big feeling."

"Well then, after you win tomorrow, I promise I'll let her hug you first."

"How very…."

"Hufflepuff of me?"

He laughed. "Exactly."

They lay side by side beside the lake for another hour, talking and laughing. The moon shone silver in the sky, reflecting off the inky black surface of the lake he'd pulled her out of four months before.

* * *

><p>It was eerily silent.<p>

The stands had been loud with cheers when the four Champions had entered the maze an hour ago, and there had been pockets of excited shouting when sparks had flown into the air or loud crashes had sounded from within the labyrinth of hedges. Delacour had been pulled out by the professors ages ago, followed by Krum, but Potter and Diggory were still in there somewhere, and it had been almost half an hour since any of the spectators had heard a single noise issue from inside.

Draco turned to Ginny, who was standing beside him. She hadn't seemed too nervous twenty minutes ago, but with each moment that passed in complete silence, her cheeks lost a little color.

He knew exactly what she was going through. He was sure he'd looked just as white during the second task. "Gin," he said, catching her hand and squeezing it reassuringly, "I'm sure they're –"

Suddenly there was a loud crash, and everyone craned their necks to see what was happening. Two figures had materialized at the maze's entrance, and the cheering started in earnest, the band striking up a marching tune. Ginny stood on her toes beside him, suddenly beaming. "Who won?" she asked loudly, trying to be heard over the excited shouts.

"OH MY GOD –" A sudden yell of a decidedly different tone rose over the enthusiastic cheers.

It was followed by a piercing scream, then another, then another, until suddenly the cheering morphed into a swirling melee of panicked shouting and confusion. Draco's heart started thumping in his chest, and beside him, Blaise said loudly, "What the _hell_ is going on?" Draco craned his neck to try to see what was going on, but just then the students on the bleacher in front of them parted a bit, and he _saw_.

"_Fuck_, Ginny –" he said, trying to grab her by the wrist to hold her back. But she had seen too, and she pulled away, jerking out of his grasp as his arms tried to encircle her, and pushed herself forward with as much force as he had ever seen her muster.

Draco could hear his blood pounding in his ears as he watched her shove through the crowd, her expression unfathomable. Her lips moved, but he couldn't hear what she was saying, because everyone was screaming now, and Draco couldn't tear his eyes away as Ginny sank to the ground, almost as if someone had broken her at the knees, and threw her arms around Cedric Diggory's body.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Sincerely sorry for the long wait – I had to finish finals, and my summer internship is already in full swing. Plus, I had a really hard time writing this chapter…took some time to get it out.

Unfortunately, I probably won't be able to update again for a few weeks. I have a couple very important things coming up, plus travel, and won't be able to write much. My schedule will be all stabilized by mid-June, though, so then I can finally get back to updates on a weekly-or-so basis!

In the meantime, please let me know what you think! Reviews make my heart melt and give me a ton of inspiration :)

Question of the chapter: **Who's your favorite character in the whole HP series?**


	18. Tom's Return

**Chapter 18: Tom's Return**

Her first thought was that she had broken her promise. "I promise I'll let her hug you first," she had said. Last night, by the lake, she had promised Cedric that. But now she had her arms around his body – his _lifeless_ body – and she had no idea where Cho Chang was.

All around her, people were screaming and running and crying, and all she could think was that she had broken her promise. Fleetingly, she wondered if Ced, wherever he was, was angry with her.

A warm arm came around her, trying to pull her away. Someone murmured something close to her ear, but it just buzzed against her eardrum like all the other sounds swirling around her skull.

"Draco…," she replied, not moving. Who else would it be? "I…." She what? She had no words to finish the sentence.

"No, Ginny," the person said again, and now she recognized the voice. Not Draco. "It's Bill." She looked up to see her eldest brother crouched above her, brow furrowed with concern. She hadn't even known he was here. "Ginny, we have to go, okay? They need to…." His eyes flicked past her to Cedric's body, and she knew what he meant. They had to take the body away.

She let Bill pull her up to a sitting position, and now she was looking down at Cedric, and her gaze skimmed his face. His eyes were wide open, but eerily blank, like he had been wearing a mask and had suddenly been yanked out from behind it. Observing that, she felt strangely numb. Wasn't she supposed to be sobbing or yelling or raging for revenge? Something?

Instead she felt nothing. It was as if she was dreaming.

Bill tugged her to a standing position, and started to guide her away. She scanned the whirling crowd, searching, and finally found Draco, trapped in the stands by all the other panicked students. He met her eyes, expression sad, for one long second before she was led away.

* * *

><p>"She's catatonic, Mum." Bill and her mum were standing a few feet away, speaking in low voices. "I've never seen her like this."<p>

"Poppy will know what to do," her mum replied, glancing over her shoulder to where Madame Pomfrey was ensconced with Mr. and Mrs. Diggory and Cedric's body behind one of the privacy curtains. They'd brought the body in just a few minutes ago. "And your father will be here any minute," Molly added.

Out of the corner of her eye, Ginny saw Bill turn to look at her. "I didn't know she and Cedric were close," he said quietly.

"Fred and George mentioned something about it in their last letter," her mum replied thoughtfully. "But I think…I think none of us really knows much about her anymore. She hasn't written me and your father once this whole year."

Ginny shut her eyes, wishing she could shut her ears instead. She didn't want to hear them talk about her anymore. They were acting like she wasn't even there.

Just then, the doors to the wing burst open, and she looked up to see Dumbledore striding across the threshold, an injured Harry supported against his arm. Professor Snape and a shaggy black dog followed them inside.

"Harry!" her mum exclaimed, rushing over and taking Harry's face between her hands.

"Poppy!" Dumbledore called, and with the screech of metal rungs, the curtain at the end of the room was pulled back and Madame Pomfrey hurried out. Ginny's gaze fixed on what Pomfrey had left behind; from behind the swaying, half-open fabric, she could make out the bottom half of Cedric's body and his parents, weeping at his bedside. Even with her face crumpled in grief, Ginny noted that Cedric's mum was very pretty – he must have gotten his looks from her. Once again, she realized that she felt strangely detached from her observation, like she was looking at a tableau rather than at moving people.

"What's happened to him, Albus?" Madame Pomfrey was saying. Dumbledore had helped Harry onto the hospital bed right beside Ginny's chair, and she saw now that the sleeve of his robes was caked in blood, a large gash visible in his arm beneath. His skin was covered in a sheen of sweat, and when their eyes met for an instant, she saw that his were filled with panic and dread. She shivered, a thread of fear pushing through the numbness and to the surface. She had never seen Harry look so afraid.

Dumbledore's gaze flicked over to the Diggorys before he waved his wand. A dome, visible only by its slight shimmer, materialized around the assembled group, and Ginny knew it was shielding the Diggorys – and anyone else who might wander into the wing – from whatever he was about to say.

"His arm," Dumbledore told Pomfrey, "and he's undergone the Cruciatus." The headmaster's lips set in a grim line. "More than once."

Her mum gasped, and Ginny felt another jolt of fear chip away at the numbness. The Cruciatus, the Killing Curse…. _Who could have done this?_

Madame Pomfrey looked dumbfounded. "The Cruciatus?" she whispered hoarsely. "On a student?"

Dumbledore nodded and Pomfrey swallowed another comment, moving to Harry's side in silence. She began to help Harry out of his robes; the bright red blood from his arm stood out even more starkly against the white of his shirt beneath.

"Albus," her mum murmured, her hand held to her lips. "What happened in there?"

Dumbledore had just opened his mouth to respond when the doors to the Hospital Wing swung open once more and her dad walked in, looking grim. He looked around, brow furrowed in confusion. It was almost as if he couldn't see them, and Ginny realized that Dumbledore's shimmering dome didn't just obscure sound – it obscured vision too. The headmaster flicked his wand again, and her dad caught sight of them and passed through the substance to join their group.

"What's happened, Molly?" he asked. "Bill's owl said that Ginny…." He saw her seated by Harry's bedside and immediately bent to kiss the top of her head. "Are you all right?" He looked around. "Is she all right?" His gaze flicked to Harry. "What happened?"

"Something went wrong during the task," her mum responded. "Cedric Diggory's dead, Arthur."

Her father blanched, then swung to face Dumbledore. "What –"

"Professor Dumbledore was just about to explain, Dad," Bill cut in.

"There's no easy way to say this," the headmaster said. "He's come back. Voldemort has returned."

Now Ginny felt fear clench hard in her stomach, bolting right through the heavy detachment. Tom had come back? Images flashed through her mind: the diary, her own blood-stained finger tracing letters on the wall, and _his_ voice, harsh in her ear. She swallowed, trying to stay calm against the panic bubbling inside her. She clenched her fingers together in her lap.

Beside her, her mother gasped again, clutching at her husband's arm. Madame Pomfrey froze, going white as a sheet.

"Barty Crouch Jr. has been impersonating Mad-Eye for the entire year," Dumbledore continued, "and he turned the Triwizard Cup into a portkey, which sent Harry and Cedric to Voldemort. Voldemort then used Harry's blood to create a powerful regeneration potion, which restored him to bodily form."

Dumbledore continued speaking…he explained about Barty Crouch Jr. and Dementors and Minister Fudge putting his head in the sand, and Ginny's mind raced. She glanced again to the back of the wing and Cedric's body.

"What about Cedric?" she whispered. The headmaster fell silent, and everyone turned to look at her. No one answered. "What happened to Cedric?" she repeated, a little more loudly. Her voice came out hoarse and grainy.

"When he and Harry got to Voldemort's location…," Dumbledore began.

"He killed him," Harry said, speaking for the first time. Ginny turned and met his eyes, and now they were filled with grief. "Voldemort killed him…like it was nothing. 'Kill the spare,' he said."

Ginny felt her eyes sting with tears, and she shut them tight. She could hear Tom's voice in her head as if the Chamber had been just yesterday: "_But who is the spare?_ _No matter. I shall dispense with him first_."

There was a long silence before Dumbledore said softly, "Poppy, if you wouldn't mind leaving us for just a moment. I need to share some information with the Weasleys...privately."

Madame Pomfrey nodded. "I'm going to start brewing some salve for your arm, Mr. Potter," she said shortly, her voice shaking a little, and she left the dome.

The headmaster continued. "Sirius, if you wouldn't mind transforming? I think it's time you revealed yourself."

_Sirius_? She looked up to see that Dumbledore was addressing the shaggy black dog at his side. Her brow furrowed in confusion; she'd almost forgotten it was there. And then, before her eyes, the dog morphed into a tall man, unkempt and with shaggy black hair, and she felt herself instinctively pushing back against her chair. _Sirius Black_. The traitor…the murderer.

"Albus, what in heaven's name –"

"Sirius Black is innocent, Molly," Dumbledore said calmly. "He was framed…by Peter Pettigrew."

"Peter Pettigrew is dead," her father replied. "All they found was a finger…."

"Unfortunately, Arthur," Black said, his lips twitching wryly, "Peter is very much alive. He was with You-Know-Who tonight."

That revelation was met with silence, and as her mind worked to process what she'd just learned, Ginny's gaze fell on Professor Snape, still standing slightly apart from the group and looking somber. Their eyes met for just an instant, and she glanced away. What was he doing here? He had been a Death Eater…Draco had told her that, months ago….

"Sirius," Dumbledore said finally, breaking her train of thought, "I have a task for you, if you're willing. I need you to contact all of the old group." He paused, and Ginny saw that her parents' eyes were wide. "I think it's time to reconstitute the Order."

Sirius nodded, his face breaking into a wide grin. "Of course, Albus."

"Good," Dumbledore said. "Now, Molly, Arthur, William," he continued, "I would appreciate if you would stay here with Harry until Poppy returns. Severus and I have some things to discuss, and Sirius will need to begin his task as soon as possible."

"Wait, Albus," her mum said suddenly, and Dumbledore, Snape, and Black paused. She glanced in Ginny's direction, and Ginny's brow furrowed. "If You-Know-Who is back, many former Slytherins will return to his side…."

Ginny felt a thread of suspicion in her chest, and her eyes narrowed.

"Their children are in Slytherin…Ginny will be surrounded by them…."

"What exactly are you trying to say, Mum?" she asked, and the hardness in her voice surprised even her.

Molly's eyes flashed dangerously, but she barreled on. "It's not safe for her there, Albus," she said. "She needs to be taken out of that House immediately."

Ginny felt a sudden white-hot anger catch in her chest, and she clung to it. The fury was better than the numbness or the fear…it kept her from sitting passively on the sidelines, and she felt the uncontrollable urge to _do something _flood through her veins, reanimating her. After everything that had happened, after Cedric's _death_, her mum was back to _this_? "I can't _believe_ you!" she burst out.

"Ginny…." Bill said warningly.

"I am _not_ switching Houses," she continued, voice rising. Her chair scraped harshly against the floor as she pushed herself out of it so that she was facing her parents head-on. "I am perfectly safe where I am. How long are you going keep on about this?"

Her mother flushed angrily and turned to face her. "As long as it takes to get you away from those horrible people!" she countered.

"Merlin, Mum," Ginny responded, voice straining with frustration, "why don't you just come right out and say it – you want to get me away from 'that Malfoy boy!'"

"That is _not_ what this is about, Ginny," Molly snapped. "The Slytherins will be up to their necks in You-Know-Who's schemes. Ask your father, ask Sirius, as Severus, for Merlin's sake! It was like that twenty years ago and it will be again!"

"I think I know _Slytherins_ better than you do, Mum," she snapped back. "And I can take care of myself. I've been doing it for three years."

"Cedric Diggory is _dead_, Ginny!" her mum exploded.

"Oh, _thanks_!" Ginny returned sarcastically. "I hadn't realized!"

"You don't want to listen to me, you don't want to listen to your father, you don't want to listen to your brothers," Molly continued, breathing hard. "I would have thought that, at the very least, Cedric's _death_ would have made you finally realize that –"

Ginny inhaled sharply, and she felt something snap within her, something that she knew wouldn't be repaired for a long time. In that moment, she actually _hated _her mother.

"Don't you _dare _use his…," she swallowed. "…his death to get your way, Mum," she hissed, hating the way her voice broke on the word _death_. "Don't you _dare_."

There was a note of taut silence, and Ginny read in her mother's eyes that she knew she'd gone too far.

"Ginny," her dad said finally, his voice stern, "your mother isn't _using_ anything."

"You have put us through _enough_ this year," Molly recovered, and Ginny knew she was winding up to lay down the final word. She turned to face Dumbledore. "Albus, please…."

Dumbledore's eyes darted from her parents to her and back again, considering. "I think," he said finally, "that this is perhaps not the best time to make a decision."

Molly opened her mouth to protest, but Arthur put a hand on her arm, and her mouth clamped shut in a thin line. "You're right, Albus," he said. "I'm sorry about this. Tensions are high for all of us. We'll…discuss…this more when Ginny is home for the summer, and –"

"No," Ginny said suddenly, sharply. Everyone turned to face her, and she set her jaw. "No, we won't."

"Ginny," her father said warningly, "we will talk about this when you're home…."

"No, we won't," she repeated, fixing her parents with a steely look, "because I won't be coming home this summer."

"What are you talking about, Ginny?" her mum said impatiently.

"I'm not coming home. I'll find somewhere else to stay…," she paused, then decided. "I'll stay at Draco's."

"You will _not_," Molly said sharply. "You _cannot_ be serious about this."

"I'm perfectly serious, Mum."

"There are laws, Ginny," her father replied, his voice now harsher than she had ever heard it. "As your parents, we have a right to decide where you stay…_and_ where you don't stay."

She arched an eyebrow at him. "And you think the Ministry will take your side over Lucius Malfoy's?" she said coldly, and in that moment, she felt more a Slytherin than she ever had before.

Her parents gaped, and she knew they realized she was right. The Malfoys were powerful, and now that Harry had fallen from the Fudge's grace, the Weasleys had little hope of getting the Ministry's support.

"No," she said, "I didn't think so."

And with that, she walked out the wing, not sparing her parents a backward glance.

* * *

><p><em>It was dark and dank…as she slithered across the stone tiles, she realized that they were slick beneath her. The tunnel was strangely humid, but she found that she was shivering anyway. Suddenly, the passageway opened out into a broad room, and a spark of recognition sent sudden fear thrumming through her veins. She knew this place…she had almost died here once….<em>

_But before she could put all the pieces together, she felt her body shifting, rustling, and she looked down to see her dark, scaled skin falling away, and she was shrinking and shrinking and shrinking until suddenly she was human-sized. And when she looked into a puddle of murky water pooled on the ground, she saw the shadowy face of a teenage boy looking back at her. Her reflection's lips curved into a haunting smile, and she shivered again._

"_My Lord," a voice murmured, and she pulled her gaze away from the water to see a tall man, hooded and wearing a Death Eater's mask, and she recognized his voice from the clearing at the World Cup. Another jolt of fear raced through her. "My Lord," he said again. "We have the boy."_

_She followed him farther into the room until, in the shadows, she made out two cowering shapes. It was Harry, and beside him, for some reason, she expected to see Cedric, but found Draco instead. "Who is the spare?" she heard herself hiss, and she finally realized who she was – she was Tom and this was the Chamber and she felt her whole body seize up within Tom's as terror flooded her chest…. "No matter. I shall dispense with him first."_

"_NO!" she shouted, but this time she only felt her lips curve into a cruel smirk._

"_Oh, that won't work this time, Ginny Weasley," Tom whispered silkily. "This time…I win."_

_She felt her arm rise, saw the wand stretched out before her. "AVADA KEDAVRA!" Tom crowed, and Draco was engulfed in an explosion of green light._

_Ginny screamed._

She woke, sweating, and stared up at the canopy of her bed as her heart pounded like a rabbit's in her chest. _Just a dream, just a dream, just a dream_, she thought, letting the chant play over and over in her mind as her breathing slowed. For a moment, she had the crazed, fleeting thought that this whole evening had been a dream.

But then she realized that Cedric's death, her fall out with her parents, Tom's return…all of that was very real, and she screwed her eyes back up tight, trying desperately to fall back into oblivion.

* * *

><p>Draco's sleep was restless, his mind dipping in and out of frustrated sleep. After Diggory and Potter had come out of the maze, they had all been sent straight to bed. The talking and rumor-mongering had continued in the dormitories late into the night, and he had gotten the uncomfortable feeling that many of his fellow Slytherins found the whole situation…exciting.<p>

He heard a soft sound coming from somewhere near the door and immediately jolted wide awake. It must be near three in the morning by now, he figured. He could hear Crabbe and Goyle snoring, and the heavy breathing filtering out from Nott and Blaise's beds meant that they was sleeping too. He sat up and blinked several times, and just when he had convinced himself that he had imagined the sound, he heard it again. Someone was knocking on the door. He threw back his covers and padded across the room to open it.

"Ginny?" he whispered, making out her figure in the dark.

"Hi," she replied uncertainly, and he watched her tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ear the way she always did when she was unsure of what she was doing. He was relieved to see her – he hadn't seen her since her brother had dragged her away from Diggory's body hours ago.

"Are you okay?" he asked, reaching out to rest a hand on her arm.

She nodded, biting her lower lip and swallowing, and he glanced behind him into the room. He didn't want his dormitory-mates to wake and speculate about what she was doing here, but he didn't want her to leave. He wanted to know what had happened, and he knew she wouldn't be at his doorstep at three in the morning if she really _was_ okay. He briefly considered the Common Room, but he remembered seeing a few people fall asleep down there earlier.

"Come on," he said quietly, pulling the door open a little wider. She only hesitated for a moment before following him inside.

He slid back under the covers, shifting a bit to let her crawl in beside him. He reached for his wand on his bedside table and murmured a quick spell to close the curtains and then a Silencing Charm. Ginny's body was warm, but she was shivering, and his brow furrowed with concern. Instinctively, he turned toward her and wrapped an arm around her. She folded into him, her arms pulled up between them and her breath against his neck.

He nestled his chin against her hair and waited for her to speak. After several moments, she said, so quietly he almost couldn't hear, "I had a nightmare."

"It's not real, Ginny," he said softly. He thought that would comfort her, but instead she let out a wry, breathy laugh and pulled away a little to meet his eyes.

"Realer than you think," she whispered. She paused, then, "He's back, Draco. Tom's back."

Draco's breath caught in his throat. "What?"

"Tom's back," she repeated, and the thought that Ginny would only ever refer to the Dark Lord as Tom crossed his mind, followed quickly by the image of the boy in the Chamber come to life. He thought of his father, voice threaded with panic: _We've done very well since his fall, you idiots_. Now, _he_ shivered.

"And he…?"

"Cedric, yeah," Ginny confirmed. "He killed him." She bent her head quickly, but Draco caught the sheen of moisture in her eyes and felt his heart clench. He realized that he hadn't seen Ginny Weasley cry since the night she had first been sorted into Slytherin. He pulled her closer.

They lay in silence for a while, but Draco could tell from her rapid heartbeat that Ginny wasn't asleep. He realized suddenly that this would probably…it would _change_ things between them. Her family…his family…they had always hated each other, but now the lines were much clearer, much more _real_.

"What are we going to do?" he whispered softly.

She was quiet for a long time, but he knew she understood what he meant. "I –" she said finally, but then she stopped short and pulled away to meet his eyes again. Quite unexpectedly, her lips curved into another grim smile. "Well, I've broken things off with my family," she continued. "Just now – they wanted me to switch Houses and I told them I wasn't going home anymore."

"You _what_?"

"Can I stay with you?" she asked.

That news…and that request…surprised him more than anything she had said up to that point. He didn't think she saw it this for what it was, but Ginny was picking sides, and she was picking the side of witches and wizards loyal to the man who had just killed one of her best friends. "Ginny, I –" he began, fully intent on telling her that she needed to think, really _think_ about what she was doing. But then he met her eyes, still slightly glassy with unshed tears, and he realized that this wasn't the time. "Okay," he murmured.

"Thank you," she whispered, holding his gaze.

Something unfathomable crossed her expression, and he opened his mouth to ask what she was thinking, but then, quite suddenly, she pushed herself a little higher on the bed and pressed her lips softly against his.

For a moment he froze against her, surprised, but then he realized what this was, and he understood it. She wanted to feel something _better_ than the sadness and the pain and the fear…she wanted anything that would drown out the reality of what had happened tonight.

And he could give her that, for the moment at least. So he kissed her back, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, then cupping her cheek, letting his lips ghost over hers. After a few seconds, he felt tears begin to trail down her cheeks, and she pulled away.

"Feel any better?" he whispered, smiling sadly.

She laughed, but he could hear the thickness of the grief beneath the sound, and swiped at her face with the back of her hand. "No, not really," she said, "but thanks for trying."

He laughed roughly too, brushing a drop of water off her cheek with his thumb. "Anytime, Gin," he whispered, pressing his lips against her forehead before folding her closer against his chest. "Anytime."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Totally wrote this instead of studying for a big exam I have on Monday. It was worth it, though - I loved writing this chapter. What do you think? I know it's a bit on the shorter side, but I think it ends in a good place. As you can see, things will be getting much more complicated for Draco and Ginny going forward.

Question of the chapter: **If you could have any job in the world, what would it be?**

Please review! Love you all dearly :)


	19. Of Fathers and Funerals

**Chapter 19: Of Fathers and Funerals**

Dumbledore had held a memorial service for Cedric in the Great Hall that morning, and now, as the Express hurtled through the countryside, everyone was uncharacteristically subdued.

Everyone but the Slytherins.

"– but the Hufflepuffs were the worst," Pansy was saying. She, her boyfriend, and Daphne had squeezed into their compartment, a feat only made possible by the fact that she was draped over Pucey's lap.

"No," Pucey replied, laughing low in his throat, "we don't _expect_ dignity from the Hufflepuffs. The Ravenclaws on the other hand…."

"Chang really is ugly when she cries," Daphne agreed, giggling lightly.

Ginny felt her chest tighten in anger, but she _just _managed to keep her facial expression neutral. She leaned her head back against Blaise's arm with what she hoped looked like careless annoyance. "Memorial services aren't beauty pageants," she said. Her comment had an edge to it, though, and Pansy noticed.

She cocked her head to one side and observed Ginny thoughtfully, a smile playing around her lips. "Oh, I'd almost forgotten – you were friends with Diggory, weren't you?"

"Mm," Ginny replied, not looking away. "And _you_ used to have a crush on him, didn't you?" She smiled brightly, and Pansy's grin faltered a bit, her dark eyes going hard as flint.

She made a scoffing sound. "I wouldn't have actually _touched_ a half-blood like him for a million Galleons."

"Really?" Ginny asked, smirking and letting her eyes trail over Pucey. "I wasn't aware your standards were that high. Oh," she added as an afterthought, "no offense, Malfoy."

Blaise laughed loudly, and Daphne let out a shocked giggle. "Always insulting me, Weasley," Draco said, shaking his head appreciatively. Pansy's lips curled into a tight smile, and she put a restraining hand on Pucey's knee. The older boy looked mortally offended; after all, Ginny had just slighted him and reminded the whole compartment about Pansy's…relationship…with Draco.

Ginny almost felt bad for bringing poor Adrian into it. Almost.

"The whole thing was fucking ridiculous anyway," Draco commented, cutting coolly through the building tension. "Half the people who were bawling didn't give two Galleons about him until he died."

Ginny had been thinking as much all morning, but now she got up and stood on her toes to retrieve her small travel bag from the luggage rack above. Mr. and Mrs. Diggory were holding a separate funeral for Cedric this afternoon, and she needed to change. "Be back in a second," she said.

The corridor outside was nearly empty, which made it easy for her to scan the compartments as she headed toward the back of the train. Finally, she spotted Neville sitting with Luna, Finnegan, and Thomas. She tapped on the glass before sliding the door open.

"Hey, Ginny!" Neville said. Luna gave her a little wave and a wide smile that made the corners of Ginny's lips tilt upward. "Do you need something?" Neville asked. "You can come in if you want," he added, glancing behind her. "This is Seamus and Dean – I don't know if you've…."

"We haven't," Seamus said a bit shortly. Ginny thought she saw his eyes narrow slightly, skimming over her Slytherin robes. "Ron talks about you all the time, though."

"I bet," she said. She could only imagine what Ron had been saying about her within the confines of his dormitory. "Nothing good, I expect," she added.

"Well, _this one_," Dean said quickly, cupping his mouth with one hand like he was telling a secret and gesturing to Neville with the other, "can't stop singing your praises, so it's a wash, really."

Neville pinked a bit, and Ginny grinned. She decided she liked Dean.

"Nev, I was actually wondering…do you have a second to talk?"

He blinked, then nodded. "Yeah, sure," he said, standing. "I'll be right back, guys."

"Are you going to the funeral at the Diggorys?" she asked as soon as the compartment door slid shut behind them.

"Yeah," he replied. "My gran's driving us straight there from King's Cross."

Ginny paused, eyebrows raised. "Your gran _drives_?"

"Well she's always said Apparition gives her a headache and the Floo gives her a backache," Neville explained, smiling a bit sheepishly. "So…."

"Well, she's nothing if not resourceful," she observed. "Do you think she'd mind giving me a lift to the Diggorys?"

Neville only hesitated for a moment. "Of course – I'm sure that'd be fine."

"Thanks, Neville. I appreciate it," she said, smiling. "Well, I'll let you get back. I'll find you when we get to the station, yeah?"

She had just started to move away when Neville spoke up. "So it's true, then?"

"What do you mean?"

"What Ron said, about you…cutting ties…with your family."

Ginny nodded. "Yeah," she confirmed, exhaling determinedly. "It's true."

"What are you going to do?"

His eyes were wide with concern, and she tried to smile reassuringly. "It's fine, Nev," she said. "I've worked it out."

He nodded slowly. "All right, then. I'll see you in a bit."

Travel bag still clutched in her left hand, she continued back to the loos, and shut herself inside with a relieved sigh. She turned to stare at her reflection in the smudged mirror. The roiling emotions and sleeplessness of the past few days had made her paler than usual, and she scuffed at her cheeks with the bases of her palms.

Her mind had been made up from the moment her mum had tried to use Cedric's death to make her switch Houses. Even now, her chest ached with a strange mixture of anger and hurt at the memory. But, she thought, her fingers clenching around the edge of the sink, it had been inevitable, really. She had been walking a thin line with her family ever since she'd been Sorted, and that had just been the final straw.

The decision to stay with the Malfoys, on the other hand…_that_ had been pure impulsiveness, and the recklessness of it set her heart beating hard. Draco had told her he'd convince his parents, but she couldn't find it in herself to be as confident as he seemed. His parents hated her, she was sure of that – hated her almost as much as she hated them, and now that Tom was back….

She bit her lip. What the _hell_ had she gotten herself into?

She shook herself, turned the tap, and sloshed icy cold water over her face. As she wiped the droplets away with a paper towel, she felt a bit more composed. But she couldn't shake the feeling that she'd jumped into a pit of snakes without waiting to find out which ones were poisonous.

Several minutes later, she had changed into the somber black dress she would wear to the funeral and pulled her hair back into a bun, and she slid open the door…only to run straight into someone waiting outside.

"Oh, sorry, I –"

"Ginny!" the person exclaimed, surprised. She looked up.

"Harry!" He looked just as tired and on edge as she felt, but his bright green eyes observed her just as keenly as ever as they edged past one another in the corridor.

"Is that for the funeral?" he asked, breaking the awkward silence. He gestured vaguely at her dress.

"Yes, are you –?"

He shook his head. "I would, but my aunt and uncle…."

"Ah."

He opened his mouth, then shut it again, brow creased, and she knew he was trying to decide whether or not to bring up what had happened in the Hospital Wing. He probably thought she was insane to even hang around Malfoy and Zabini, let alone reject her own family for them. Her parents and brothers had always been the family he'd never had…she didn't expect him to understand what she'd done.

"Ginny?" he said finally.

She set her jaw, steeling herself for a lecture of some sort, but after a breath, he just met her eyes and said seriously, "Be careful this summer, okay?"

That surprised her, but she nodded, and he regarded her for just a beat more before he headed into the loo, the door clicking shut behind him.

* * *

><p>As soon as he had dismissed Dusty with instructions to bring his and Ginny's trunks to his bedroom, Draco headed up the stairs and strode down the wide hall toward his father's study, still trying to figure out exactly what he was going to say when he got there. Somehow, he had to convince his father to let Ginny stay at the Manor this summer. And he had no idea how he was going to do it.<p>

The door to the study was slightly ajar; he heard Lucius speaking inside, probably to one of his usual business associates.

But then the person answered. "It's a bad business, Lucius…a very bad business."

Draco stopped short, hand frozen in the process of pushing the door open. It was unmistakably the voice of Cornelius Fudge.

"As I'm sure you can imagine, the general public is very fond of the boy," the Minister continued. "I mean, he's _Harry Potter_, for Merlin's sake! And for us to…to even _suggest_ that he's gone off his rocker…well, it's not exactly the best move…." He paused. "…politically speaking…."

"I understand completely, Cornelius," his father replied, his smooth drawl contrasting sharply with the Minister's slightly panicked tone of voice. "However, the public can hardly begrudge you telling them the truth. And I'm sure they'll be relieved to know that all of Mr. Potter's nonsensical stories about You-Know-Who's return are nothing more than lies."

Draco vaguely admired the ease with which his father lied through his teeth; he was certain that the Minister, encouraged by his own blind wishful thinking, was drinking in every word.

"Hmm, yes, I'm sure you're quite right," Fudge replied thoughtfully.

"The boy has finally let his attention-seeking go too far, I'm afraid," Lucius said. "Doubtless a symptom of Dumbledore's tutelage…."

"_Now_, Lucius," Fudge cut in sternly. "I know how much you disapprove of Albus's…teaching methods. But he is simply too well-respected in certain sectors of our community, you see, and I cannot replace him _and _criticize Harry Potter, and expect to keep my job!"

His father made a disapproving noise, and there was a moment of taut silence. But then, "Well, I understand that as well, Minister," Lucius said. There was a the sound of pen on paper and then a soft rip. "Now, I'm sure it is a very difficult time for the Ministry, and you know that Narcissa and I want to do everything in our power to help things…run smoothly."

Through the partially open door, Draco could just make out his father sliding the check across the table.

Fudge made small sound, something like a cough, then, "_Well_, Lucius, this is very generous of you…exceedingly generous. I shall make sure it is put to very good use."

"I have complete faith in you, Cornelius."

"Right, well, between you and me, Lucius," Fudge said, lowering his voice slightly and speaking in a tone that suggested he was imparting great wisdom, "and _do_ take this as the advice of a concerned _friend_, it might be wise for you to distance yourself from some of the more…suspect members of your circle."

"Suspect?" Draco was sure that the Minister couldn't detect the slight thread of amusement in his father's voice.

"Yes, you know, anyone who was accused of being a Death Eater last time, that sort of thing. Even those that were completely exonerated, as you were, my dear Lucius, of course," the Minister put in quickly, sounding embarrassed. "But you are one of the people young Mr. Potter has misguidedly accused of being involved _this_ time around, and some of the Ministry officials who don't know you as well as I do are somewhat wary of you…. It would be beneficial for you to have _something_…a card of sorts to play, if someone more credible than Mr. Potter were to accuse you of being on the wrong side of all this."

"I see," Lucius replied. "I'll certainly consider what you've said, Cornelius."

Fudge said something more, something about possibly being able to put in a Ministry-appointed supervisor at Hogwarts to curb Dumbledore's power there, but Draco had stopped listening closely. The Minister's speech had given him an idea, a good one, and he was so deep in thought that when Fudge said something about needing to leave, he only _just_ managed to duck back several steps down the hall before the office door swung all the way open.

When the Minister glanced up, Draco looked as though he had just rounded the corner, and his expression was carefully schooled to polite surprise. "Minister Fudge, what a pleasant surprise," he said smoothly, holding out a hand.

"Oh…Draco, isn't it?" Fudge said, taking Draco's hand in his warm, sweaty one. "Back from school already?"

"Yes, just."

"Very good, very good. Well, unfortunately I have to rush away, my boy. But I'll see you again this summer, I'm sure."

Draco nodded as Gerald appeared to escort the Minister from the Manor.

When he entered the study, his father was scanning a set of papers, a quill held lightly between his thumb and forefinger. "Train ride went smoothly, I assume?" Lucius said without looking up.

"Yes."

"Well? Have a seat." He paused to scribble something at the bottom of one of the parchment sheets. "How were your marks?"

"Good," Draco answered shortly.

Lucius nodded. "Your mother is off on a social visit. She should be home shortly."

"Actually, Father," Draco began. He leaned back in his seat and crossed an ankle over his knee, feigning nonchalance, but inside, he steeled himself for what he was about to say. "I wanted to speak with you first, before Mother gets home."

At that, his father looked up, eyebrows raised ever so slightly. Draco met his questioning stare head on, and after a moment, Lucius's eyebrows went up even higher, and he set down the quill. "Yes, what is it?" he asked.

Draco held his father's gaze as he spoke. "I've asked Ginny Weasley to stay with us this summer."

Something hard and a little surprised crossed his father's expression. "And what possessed you to do that?" he asked, tone dangerously low.

"She has cut ties with her family, and she needs a place to stay."

Lucius made a scoffing sound and turned back to his papers. "It's just like someone of her background to 'cut ties,' as you put it, with no reasonable plan for where she'll sleep at night. Your interest in this girl's wellbeing is really becoming quite tiresome, Draco." He picked up his quill again. "She may not stay here."

Draco had been expecting his father to react this way. "My interest in her wellbeing aside," he said smoothly, "I think her staying here would be in our family's best interest."

"I thought we had discussed this, Draco," Lucius said, impatience seeping into his voice now. "I do not need your assistance handling _my_ affairs."

Draco exhaled – this was the important part. "I can only speculate, Father," he said slowly, "that the Dark Lord's return has put us in a…delicate position." His father's head snapped up, surprise evident on his face, and Draco knew he was wondering where he had gotten confirmation that the return had happened at all.

A pause, then, "It seems you are better informed than I had thought," Lucius said. He regarded his son for a moment, and Draco thought he caught a shadow of pride in his eyes. Good. That was exactly what he needed. "Tell me, what else have you…speculated?"

"Our allegiance is, of course, to the Dark Lord," Draco continued, "but until he has regained his full strength, until he is ready to challenge the Ministry outright, we must feign loyalty to Fudge. And in any case, it may be in the Dark Lord's interest to have followers who maintain influence in the Ministry. In order to do that, we need to gain the Ministry's trust. We need to prove that we are on their side. Housing Ginny Weasley, allowing her to escape her parents, who are clearly aiding Potter in spreading his lies, accomplishes that."

He paused. "In addition, the Dark Lord has only just returned, many of his followers are in Azkaban, he is weak and vulnerable. We must consider the possibility that the Ministry will get its head out of the sand and defeat him. In this case, we will _also_ need a buffer against any accusations that the Ministry might level against us."

At that, his father's eyes registered impressed surprise.

"If they should find evidence of loyalty to the Dark Lord, we will need to show it is false, that we acted under duress, that no matter what the evidence might _suggest_, we were _good_ all along." He paused. "In short," he said, "we will need a card to play. And what better card than having…protected a _Weasley_?"

Lucius was silent for a moment, his eyes fixed on Draco's, and Draco found himself holding his breath. "And the Dark Lord?" his father said finally, folding his hands on the desktop.

"He doesn't have to know, but if he finds out, why would he object? She has no loyalty to her family."

"Who _does _she have loyalty to?"

Draco paused for a moment. "To herself," he said finally, "and to me. She will play any part we need her to."

His father thought for several long seconds that felt like full minutes, and then, he smiled.

Draco felt a rush of relief.

"Tell the girl she may stay here," he said. "Now, I must finish this." He glanced down at his stack of paperwork. "You may go."

He stood to leave, but just as his hand reached for the door handle, his father spoke again. "Tell me, Draco, how long were you outside, listening to my conversation with the Minister?"

Draco turned slowly to find his father regarding him with a vaguely amused look in his eyes. He knew lying would be useless. "Long enough," he said.

"Ah. It did seem a bit coincidental that he recommended I find a 'card to play,' and you arrived moments later to offer me one."

Draco said nothing, but after a moment, his father waved a hand in dismissal and turned back to his work.

He left the room wondering what dangerous schemes he had just succeeded in getting Ginny involved in.

* * *

><p>Ginny didn't cry at the funeral, just as she hadn't cried at the memorial service. She hadn't shed any tears at all, except in Draco's bed, the night it had happened. She sat at the back, next to Neville and his grandmother, studiously ignoring her parents and brothers seated several rows away. Every once in a while, one of them would turn to look at her, but she kept her eyes trained straight ahead, focusing on Cedric's parents, one of his cousins, a Hufflepuff friend, and Cho Chang, all of whom got up to speak about his intelligence, his bravery, his kindness….<p>

After, they buried him and carved his name on the tombstone with a wand stroke.

When the service ended, they all made their way out of the small Ottery St. Catchpole graveyard and over several sun-bathed hills to the Diggorys house. Some people milled around the rooms, speaking in low voices, but Ginny joined the line that had formed before Mr. and Mrs. Diggory.

After a few minutes of waiting, she stood in front of them, and her throat felt suddenly dry. Up close, she could see Cedric's face reflected in theirs…he had _had_ (the past tense suddenly stood out sharply, and she cringed inwardly) his dad's gray eyes, not quite so silver as Draco's but somehow more naturally kind, and his mum's tall nose, and…. She swallowed, trying to moisten her throat. "I'm so sorry," she said. "I was friends with Cedric. My name's –"

"Of course, Ginny," his mum said, smiling kindly. "Cedric wrote about you in his letters all the time."

"Oh," she replied, surprised. She smiled back, feeling a strange combination of happiness and pain at the revelation that Cedric had talked about her.

"He said wonderful things about you, and that you helped him with the tasks, and that you were the thing he cared for most, for the second one," Cedric's dad put in, and there was nothing accusatory in his voice, though Ginny felt a sharp stab of regret at the mention of the tournament. If only she hadn't pushed him so hard to succeed at the other tasks, he might not have gotten so far in the maze….

"Actually, we wanted to give you something," Mrs. Diggory said. "Where is it…?" She turned to the chest of drawers behind her and rummaged a bit before producing a box. "Careful, it's a bit heavy," she said, handing it to Ginny. "I think he would have wanted you to have it."

"Thank you," Ginny said. "Should I…?" She glanced uncertainly to the long string of people waiting behind her.

"You don't have to right now, in front of everyone. Whenever you like," said Mr. Diggory.

"It was so nice to see you, dear," Mrs. Diggory murmured, touching her arm, and Ginny told them she was sorry one more time before she moved away.

After that, she wasn't quite sure what she should do. She thought it would be rude to leave – and anyway, she had to wait for confirmation from Draco that his father had said she could stay at the Manor. She was far too grim to eat or drink anything that Mrs. Diggory had laid out for the guests, and she _certainly_ didn't feel like speaking to anyone from her family, so in the end, she and Neville wandered to the back of the house and ensconced themselves in the small sitting room behind the kitchen.

She sat on the cushioned wall seat, the box heavy in her lap.

"I think it's a disgrace," Neville said after a moment, breaking the heavy silence.

"What is?"

"That the Diggorys lost their only son, and the Ministry just keeps telling them it was an accident."

She looked up at him. "You believe Harry, then?"

"Yeah," he said, meeting her gaze. "Don't you?"

She nodded.

He looked back down at his shoes, which he swung a bit so they tapped against the base of the wall. "Harry wouldn't lie about something like _that_. He _hates_ attention, no matter what Fudge says. I know Seamus doesn't believe him, though. He said as much on the train this morning."

Ginny nodded slowly, and they had lapsed back into silence when the door swung open wide and Cho Chang burst in, sobbing. She stopped short when she saw them and gave a little hysterical laugh. She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. "Sorry," she said. "I didn't think there would be anyone in here."

"It's fine," Ginny said.

Cho looked at her, and for the first time since the lake, their eyes met without the slightest hint of ill will. Ginny supposed Cho didn't have a spare bit of emotion to spend on jealousy right now. "I'll…I'll just –" she said, and then she turned and fled from the room.

"Wait, Cho," Ginny said loudly, depositing the box on the table and following her out into the empty hall outside.

The older girl paused, then turned to face her, swiping once more at her eyes.

Ginny swallowed. "He loved you, you know," she said slowly. "He told me so, the night before the maze."

Cho made an odd sound in the back of her throat, and started to tear up again. "Really?"

"Yeah, I thought he might not have gotten a chance to –"

"He didn't," she answered. She paused, then, "Thank you for telling me."

"Yeah."

When Ginny went back into the sitting room, Neville was holding a folded sheet of parchment in his hand and staring curiously at the box the Diggorys had given her. "This came for you, just now."

She took the sheet and unfolded it, immediately recognizing Malfoy's scrawl.

_Ginny –_, it said, _Father has agreed. I've set the Floo to let you through whenever you're ready. See you soon – chin up._

She sighed with relief – she had a place to stay – and smiled slightly at the last bit.

"Are you going to open this?" Neville asked, gesturing to the box.

She considered for a moment, then pulled it toward her. "I suppose now's as good a time as any." She ripped it open, revealing something wrapped in several sheets of newspaper within. As soon as she picked it up, she knew what it was, recognizing the shape and the weight, and she felt her breath catch in her throat. She paused and shut her eyes tight for a moment, then pulled away the paper.

The golden egg glinted in the sunlight streaming in through the window. It was beautiful.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> I really enjoyed writing this chapter, and I hope you enjoyed reading it.

Question of the chapter: **What is your favorite name?**

Please review! I'm going to sleep now and would love to wake up to an inbox full of your thoughts!


	20. Summer Nights

**Chapter 20: Summer Nights**

Ginny sped through the Floo and emerged in the foyer of Malfoy Manor. She glanced at the clock on the wall as she stepped out of the grate and brushed at the soot on her dress: nearly seven-thirty. She turned toward the staircase, planning to head straight upstairs to find Draco, when she was startled by a rather high voice at waist-level.

"Miss Weasley," Gerald greeted her, inclining his body in the barest suggestion of a bow. "I have been informed that you will be spending the summer here at the Manor."

He wrinkled his nose a bit at that, and despite herself, Ginny had to suppress a smile. He obviously didn't approve of her staying here, or of her blood status. Too many years working for Lucius and Narcissa, she supposed.

She nodded in confirmation.

"I have moved your things into the room you stayed in at the end of last summer," he said.

"Thank you. Bring this up as well," she replied, proffering the box containing the golden egg.

Gerald made another little bow. "Dinner is being served in the dining room," he continued, "and Master Lucius requested that you present yourself there upon your arrival."

"All right," she said shortly. She felt suddenly uncomfortable, but she crossed the room and turned the corner so that she was out of sight before she paused to compose herself. She wished she had had a chance to talk to Draco before seeing his parents. She had no idea what he'd said to convince them to let her stay…she would have to tread carefully, just in case he had stretched the truth or concocted some false story. She couldn't afford to contradict whatever he'd said.

She brushed the remaining soot off her dress and shook herself. She could do this.

The dining room was very…stately: large and high-ceilinged, with several ornate chandeliers dangling overhead. But Ginny found the paintings of long-dead Malfoy ancestors that glared at her from the walls highly unnerving. She shivered a bit as she crossed the doorway.

All three current members of the Malfoy family looked up as she entered, and she paused at the end of the table. Her eyes flicked to Draco; he nodded ever-so-slightly in encouragement. Somewhere between here and the foyer, her heart had started to beat rapidly in her chest, but she schooled her expression to a calm neutrality.

"Ah, Miss Weasley," Lucius said, "how nice of you to join us." The thread of sarcasm in his voice suggested that it really wasn't very nice at all, but he smiled coolly and gestured for her to sit down. He returned to cutting into the meat on his plate.

"Draco tells us you and your family have had a…fallout…of sorts," Lucius continued, looking up again to regard her keenly.

She nodded. Dusty, the Malfoys' other House-elf appeared at her elbow with a plate of food.

"Any particular reason for this parting of the Weasleys?" he asked, lip curving into a sardonic smile.

Ginny forced herself not to look at Draco. She considered lying; perhaps he'd said her loyalties had changed, that she wanted to follow Tom now, but decided in the last moment to simply tell the truth. "We've been growing apart for a long time," she said, "and after Cedric Diggory's –"

She paused. His death? There was no sense in playing dumb, she decided. She knew as well as Lucius Malfoy did that Cedric's death had been no accident.

"– murder –" Lucius's eyes glinted thoughtfully. " – they insisted I switch out of Slytherin. I saw no reason to do so. It was the last in a long line of conflicts."

"I see," Lucius said, regarding her with an unfathomable expression on his face, and Ginny found she was holding her breath.

"Well," he said finally, turning back to his meal, "I trust you understand that in this house, you will abide by my rules." Ginny exhaled and nodded, relieved. "When I tell you to stay out of the way, you will do so. When I tell you to play a part, you will play it. For example, next weekend, we will be holding a party here at the Manor. Many important Ministry officials will be there, including the Minister, and you will make yourself very visible."

Ginny's eyebrows went up to her hairline. For some reason, she had thought Lucius would want to keep her a secret. She glanced at Draco, but his father was still speaking. "You will tell anyone who asks that you are uncomfortable with your parents' support of Harry Potter's anti-Ministry activities and that you have come to me in order to escape their negative influence."

"Interesting lies," she commented, and Lucius looked up, amused.

"They are, Miss Weasley, but you will tell them all the same."

She nodded.

"My wife will ensure that you are properly clothed for the occasion," he added. At that, Narcissa's lips twitched with displeasure, but she kept silent. "If you are going to reflect well on us, you had better not be dressed in whatever set of rags you own."

Ginny resisted the urge to snort, settling for a tight smile instead.

* * *

><p>"So, what did you have to do to get them to say yes?" Ginny asked, blowing on her tea before taking a gulp. It burned comfortably down her throat and into her stomach; despite the warmth of summer, the Manor was always exceedingly chilly.<p>

It was a few hours later, and she and Draco were sitting on the sofa in his room, the fire high in the grate before them.

He picked up his own mug from the side table. "The relevant question is what I had to do to get _him_ to say yes," he replied. "That's something you should know about my parents. You only ever have to convince my father. He has all the power. Mother follows his lead."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Sounds romantic."

"Mm, it's not about romance, Weasley. It's about forming family alliances and producing an heir."

"Lovely."

"I told him it's in the family's best interest to let you stay here for two reasons," Draco explained. "Right now, we need to keep the Ministry's confidence. You're very endearing as the poor little Weasley who only wants to stay loyal to Fudge."

Ginny raised her eyebrows. "Right, adorable."

"And if the Dark Lord ultimately fails…."

"I'm your adorable trump card," she finished.

"Exactly."

Ginny's lips pursed into a thin line. She'd deduced that she was being _used _in this way from Lucius's comments at dinner, but hearing it outright from Draco made a little well of indignation form in her chest. She didn't like being used…though, she thought wryly, she'd gotten herself into it. She should have known – _had _known, in all honesty – that staying here would come with conditions. From a consummate Slytherin like Lucius Malfoy, she had expected nothing less.

"Gin, are you sure about all of this?" Draco said suddenly, and when she looked up, he had her pinned under the sharp gaze that meant he wasn't going to put up with jokes or evasions. He was going to get an answer. She rolled her eyes – he always seemed to know what she was thinking, and it was annoying as all hell.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

He arched an eyebrow. "You know what I mean."

"Spell it out for me," she said sarcastically, feeling argumentative.

He sighed, but didn't break eye contact. "My father's a Death Eater. And no matter what he wants the Ministry to believe, we're on the Dark Lord's side –"

"We?" Ginny cut in, raising her eyebrows.

Draco didn't blink. "My family," he said shortly, and before Ginny could decide whether or not she wanted to press the issue, he continued. "You being here…."

"Has nothing to do with any of that."

"Helping my father conceal his true loyalties isn't exactly neutral, Ginny," he said flatly.

"I refuse to live with my family, so I need to stay here instead. I'm doing what I have to do to accomplish that – end of story. What your dad does with his stupid mask on is none of my concern."

He made a frustrated sound, and Ginny felt her heckles rise. "You're picking _sides_, Ginny," he replied.

She matched his tone. "_No_," she emphasized, "I'm not."

"It's going to parties and talking up my father to the Minister for _now_, but what about when he starts asking you to do other things, to do _more_?"

"Then I'll do it," she retorted.

"Give me a break, Ginny," he snapped derisively. "You've always been uncomfortable with the blood status line, so don't tell me you'll do whatever my father tells you to. You're not nearly Slytherin enough for that."

Anger and frustration exploded in her chest. "You _arse_!" she yelled, pushing herself off the sofa. Who did he think he was, saying something like that?

"The Dark Lord _killed_ Diggory, Ginny!"

"I know! Why the _fuck_ does everyone keep trying to tell me that?"

"Because you're not listening!" he yelled back, eyes flashing.

"So what do you want me to do, Malfoy?" she asked sharply, and she saw him wince at her use of his last name. It had been years since she'd called him that out of anger. "Go make nice with my parents, switch out of Slytherin, and what?" She laughed mirthlessly. "Hate you for all eternity because your father's a Death Eater and you're toeing the party line?"

At that, Draco fell silent – he had nothing to say to that, just as she'd known he wouldn't. She believed – she really did – that she wasn't picking sides, not yet. She couldn't live with her family, so she would do what she had to do to live here. It was practical, all business, and she firmly believed it was the best way to stay out of a conflict that she couldn't control, a conflict that threatened to destroy whatever stability she'd managed to build up over the past four years.

But she also realized, deep in some part of herself that she couldn't lie to, that Draco was her best friend, and that if it came down to it, she would pick whatever side _he_ did. She needed him, had since First Year, and she wouldn't let a fucking war draw battle lines between them. She _couldn't_.

How the _hell_ did he not understand that?

She held Draco's gaze for one second longer, then slammed her tea mug down on the side table and stormed out of the room.

* * *

><p>A little less than a week later, Ginny stood in the center of Narcissa Malfoy's vast walk-in closet as the older woman tried to find her something to wear to the party this weekend. From the outside, the closet hadn't looked like anything special – just a simple wooden door with a plain silver handle. But Narcissa had pushed open that door to reveal a high-ceilinged, lushly-carpeted room almost as big as the bedroom itself. And it was filled to the brim with sweaters, shirts, pants, skirts, and shoes arranged neatly on shelves and in drawers.<p>

And, most relevant right now, dozens upon dozens of dresses hung from a rack at the very end.

"Nothing I own is going to fit you," Narcissa said, drawing her back to the present.

Ginny cleared her throat, adjusting her awestruck features to cool detachment. "I didn't think it would," she said, eyeing Narcissa's lithe, lanky form. Ginny was thin too, but much shorter.

"I'll just send something away to Madame Malkin," Narcissa replied, sifting through the long swathes of satin and silk and chiffon that made up her dress collection. "She'll have it done by tomorrow evening."

"I didn't know she did that," Ginny replied, standing apart. She didn't think Narcissa would react well to a lowly house guest – and a Weasley at that – touching her things.

"Well, certainly not for…everyone," Narcissa said, shooting her a disdainful look. She held out a dress, appraising Ginny's form, then shook her head, making a soft sound of disgust as she replaced it on the rack.

Ginny rolled her eyes. She could do without the little noises of revulsion and general haughtiness. She didn't need a dress that badly, whatever Lucius Malfoy might think.

"You really needn't trouble yourself," she said wryly. "I have a perfectly suitable dress. I wore it to the Yule Ball."

Narcissa didn't even acknowledge she was speaking until she mentioned the name of the dress shop where she – or rather, Draco – had bought it. "And how in the world did a _Weasley_ afford a dress from there?" she asked, narrowing her eyes at Ginny.

"Your son bought it," she replied.

Narcissa paused for a moment. "Yes, well," she said, obviously discomfited by that bit of information, "Draco has always been very kind to his…." She let her eyes rake Ginny contemptuously. "…pets."

Ginny met her eyes, then looked deliberately around the room and back again. "Apparently, so has Lucius," she said, reckless.

For a second, Narcissa's eyes hardened, and Ginny wondered if she'd gone too far this time. Had she really gotten this far just to throw it all away on a cruel comeback?

But then, the older woman surprised her by letting out a high, tinkling laugh. "Very good," she said. "I can see why he's amused by you." She paused, regarding Ginny thoughtfully. "You remind me of someone I used to know."

Ginny's brow furrowed. "Who?"

Narcissa turned back to the dresses and drew one out: a simple column of deep green satin. "My sister," she said, surveying the dress with a critical eye.

Ginny wasn't sure if she was supposed to feel flattered or mortally offended. "Bellatrix?" From what she'd heard, and from what Draco had told her, Bellatrix Lestrange was a completely demented psychopath.

"No," Narcissa replied amusedly. "My other sister." She held out the dress. "This will do."

* * *

><p>On the day of the party, the House-elves spent the whole afternoon cleaning and decorating, so that by the time the guests began arriving at eight that evening, the entire first floor was nearly sparkling.<p>

Ginny was upstairs, leaning with her elbows on the stair railing and watching the guests milling about in the foyer below. She recognized some of them: high-level Ministry bureaucrats, mostly – Fudge arrived in a quite hideous purple suit with his equally purple-adorned wife on his arm – though she spotted several fellow Slytherins. She figured their parents were friends of Lucius's.

"So are you going to head down at any point, or are you planning on crowd-watching all night?" She turned as Draco leaned onto the railing beside her. She nodded shortly in greeting. Ever since their fight in his room the other night, things had been a bit tense between them.

"Crowd watching _would_ be preferable," she replied finally.

"Mm," he agreed, smirking slightly. "But there's food down there, and alcohol."

She considered, then shrugged.

"All right, Weasley," he said as they started down the stairs. "Let's go earn your keep."

And she did. Just as Lucius had…requested…she spoke to various Ministry officials, and she took every opportunity to slip the Malfoys' generosity into the conversation. It was working, too – about an hour an a half into the evening, she saw Lucius and Minister Fudge deep in conversation. Fudge gestured toward her, a wide grin on his face, and Lucius smirked, nodding covertly – and approvingly – in her direction.

A few moments later, Fudge guided Lucius straight over to her, and it was only as they wove through the crowd that Ginny noticed the short, plump woman following at the Minister's elbow. She was dressed from head to toe in pink. Ginny's eyebrows went up.

"Draco, Blaise," Lucius said, loud enough so his voice could be heard over the buzz of conversation. The two of them had been talking about ten feet away, but now they maneuvered over to join the little group. "The Minister thought that all three of you should meet –"

"Miss Dolores Umbridge," Fudge finished, beaming.

The pink woman stepped forward, also smiling, but in what Ginny thought was a much…creepier way. Up close, she noticed that this Dolores Umbridge's face was exceedingly flat, her eyes bugging out like a toad's. The broad grin stretched her wide lips across her face, accentuating the toad-like effect.

"I think they ought to call me _Professor _Umbridge, don't you agree?" the woman suggested softly. And then she giggled, a childish, breathy sound, and Ginny exchanged incredulous glances with Draco and Blaise in turn. Blaise had to suppress a snort.

"Professor?" Ginny asked quickly to distract everyone from Blaise's…impoliteness. "Of what?" She already knew, of course, though she couldn't quite wrap her head around this woman teaching them Defense against anything.

"Defense Against the Dark Arts," Umbridge replied. "Goodness knows you need a qualified instructor in that subject, what with the incompetent people you've had to deal with in the past," she added with another giggle. Ginny forced a smile, thinking of Lupin, who had offered her help what felt like ages ago and had taught her to resist the Dementors' effects. He had been a great teacher.

"Pleased to meet you," Draco said smoothly, extending a hand. Umbridge's grin widened, and she blushed girlishly and giggled again.

Ginny realized then and there that _Professor _Umbridge had the unique talent of making her want to laugh and vomit all at the same time, but she held out her hand too, a smile plastered firmly on her face.

* * *

><p>Ginny was leaning against the wall in one corner, observing the remaining party-goers over the top of her wine glass. It was nearly midnight, and many of the guests had left – Fudge himself had said his good-byes half an hour ago. Those that remained were mostly personal friends of the Malfoys'.<p>

"Hi."

She glanced up to see a boy she recognized from her year at school lean his shoulder against the wall beside her. She was pretty sure his name was Graham. He was tall and quite handsome, with sandy brown hair that fell in a mess around his ears and big blue eyes.

"Hi," she replied.

"Graham Ives," he said, extending a hand. "I don't think we've ever formally met."

"Ginny Weasley," she replied. She paused to take the last sip of red in her glass. "So how do we go three years in all the same classes and never formally meet?"

"By defying the odds," he said.

She smiled. "Well, we should rectify the situation immediately."

"How about we start with me getting you another drink," he suggested, grinning.

Her smile widened as she handed him her glass. She watched him take it to the makeshift bar and back. Yeah, she thought, definitely handsome.

"Look, Ginny," he said when he arrived back at her side. "I never beat around the bush, and I'm not about to start now."

Her eyebrows went up and she straightened with mock seriousness. "With a lead-in like that, this better be good," she said.

He smiled. "Would you be interested in going to Hogsmeade with me once school starts up?"

She laughed. "Are you in the habit of asking girls you just formally met out on dates, Mr. Ives?" she asked.

"Only girls as pretty as you," he quipped.

She tipped her glass to him and took a swig. "Good line."

"I thought so. Look, I've been thinking you're ridiculously good-looking for months, and I figure as soon as we get back to school, you're going to have dozens of Hogsmeade offers, so I better get mine in early."

"That's very flattering," she said, "but I think you may be overestimating me."

"Hardly. There are tons of blokes who fancy you, our year and otherwise."

She snorted. "None of them have ever asked me. Except you, of course," she amended.

He grinned. "Well no, they wouldn't, would they? They're all afraid."

"Of what?" she asked, arching an eyebrow at him.

"Of what Malfoy will do to them."

"Malfoy?" she repeated, surprised. She glanced across the room to where Draco and Blaise were standing near one of the hors d'oeuvres tables. Draco must have just said something hilarious, because Blaise was laughing aloud.

"Yeah," Graham affirmed. "Everyone knows how protective he is of you. He watches you like a hawk. Actually, I bet if we wait long enough, he'll –" He paused just as Draco glanced over in their direction. "_There_. Keeping tabs of you, as always."

Ginny felt a bit miffed. "He's not exactly my _keeper_," she replied, annoyed that _apparently_ half of Hogwarts believed otherwise.

"I know," he said smoothly, "which is why I didn't ask his permission before asking you out. Now, any particular reason you're trying to convince me _not_ to?"

Ginny turned back to meet his eyes, decided. She flashed him a wide smile. "No, none whatsoever," she replied. "I would love to go to Hogsmeade with you."

* * *

><p>"What the hell is Weasley doing with Ives?" Blaise said suddenly.<p>

Draco followed his gaze and noted that Ginny and Graham Ives were still talking, leaning against the wall on the opposite end of the drawing room – though now they seemed to be leaning significantly _closer_.

"Is there something going on with them?" Blaise asked, and now Draco looked over at _him_, eyebrows raised.

"You must be joking."

"What?" Blaise replied, giving him a look of wide-eyed innocence.

Draco snorted. "Don't give me that, Zabini." He took a sip of wine. "I know you, and I also know that the most recent development in your love life is that you find women infinitely more attractive when someone else is interested."

"That is totally –" Blaise began, then stopped short and laughed. "– one hundred percent accurate, actually."

Draco laughed into his wine glass. "It's not about that, though," Blaise continued, "I swear. Trust me, I've never needed another bloke in the picture to find Weasley attractive."

"Mm, true," Draco murmured. They _had_ flirted shamelessly for the better part of a year, though…. "I think you may have ruined your shot with her at the Yule, mate," he commented. Ginny had seemed significantly less interested in Blaise's charms after the Samantha Vaisey incident. Speaking of which…. "Are things definitely over with Vaisey then?"

Blaise waved it off with a perfunctory, "Yeah, that was over in _March_. I told you."

"She kept you interested for three whole months," Draco said with a low whistle, unable to resist teasing. "That's definitely a record for you – shall we get you a prize?"

"Oh, fuck off," Blaise replied, shooting him a glare, though his lips twitched with suppressed laughter. He turned his gaze back to Ginny. "I mean, bloody hell, _look_ at her."

Draco rolled his eyes as he turned, because _of course_ he knew Ginny Weasley was attractive. Every bloke at Hogwarts had known that since the Yule Ball, and he had just opened his mouth to say so when something else caught his attention.

Dusty, who Draco knew for a fact had been expressly forbidden from entering the lower drawing rooms during the party unless called, strode in and pulled frantically on his father's pant leg. He looked absolutely terrified.

His father, who looked angry enough to cuff the quivering House-elf across the jaw, leaned down, and Dusty said something in his ear. Lucius froze and blanched.

He straightened slowly, then swallowed, shook himself, and, forcing a smile, rapped very loudly on the nearest tabletop. "Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen," he said. "Unfortunately, something unexpected has…come up. So I will need to ask all of you…." He looked around as if to confirm that no one unduly important was still present, then, "…to leave." There was some tittering and no movement toward the exit, so after a moment, Lucius added coldly, "_Now_."

Blaise looked at Draco, eyebrows raised. "I guess I'll…see you later, mate," Draco said distractedly, and Blaise nodded before moving to join his mum and stepfather. Ives said one more thing to Ginny, then he left too, and so did everyone else, until the only people left in the drawing room were Draco's parents, him, and Ginny.

"What's going on, Lucius?" Narcissa asked, obviously distressed by the sudden end of the party. "What's happened?"

Lucius adjusted his jacket. "The Dark Lord is here," he said, and Draco suddenly felt as though the room temperature had dropped ten degrees. "Dusty brought him in through the back, and he is waiting in the library. He does not like to be kept waiting. Come."

"Father, wait," Draco said quickly, his eyes flicking to Ginny. She was white as a sheet, but her jaw was set. "What about Ginny?"

His father paused and he too turned to stare at Ginny. Draco could see the cogs turning in his mind – to hide her or not to hide her? "No," he said slowly. "He'll discover one way or another. She comes."

And then he turned on his heel and swept from the room, his wife following soon after.

"We'd better…," Draco said.

"Yeah," Ginny said back, and her voice only wavered a little.

Draco's heart was beating loud in his chest as they all crossed the house to the library. He had no idea what to expect – he kept picturing the sixteen-year-old from the Chamber, though he knew that was irrational. That boy had grown into a far more powerful man, and the regeneration must have turned that man into a….

His father swung open the library door, and they entered.

…_a monster_.

The figure seated before them on one of the armchairs, swathed in black, looked hardly human. It fixed its red eyes on them, and its lips curved into something like a smile. It had no nose, and its skin was bone-white and stretched thin so its bones jutted out sharp in the flickering light of the fire.

"Hello, Lucius," the Dark Lord said, and Draco had to force himself not to recoil. In appearance, he could see no remnant of the handsome youth of his Second Year, but the voice…the voice was exactly the same.

_She will not last long. Her soul is nearly gone..._

He swallowed down the bile that rose in his throat and glanced sidelong at Ginny. He could only imagine what she must be feeling…she had heard that voice say far, far worse things. Reflexively, he pressed his palm reassuringly into the small of her back. She seemed to push back against it, like a part of her was desperate to back out of the room completely.

"I heard you were throwing a little…get-together," the Dark Lord was saying, "for some of your Ministry friends, and I thought perhaps I ought to come and join the festivities."

"Oh, well," Lucius said hesitantly, as if trying to decide whether or not this was a trap, "it is an honor, my Lord, an…unnecessary honor."

The Dark Lord made a thoughtful and unfathomable sound, and then his eyes shifted to Draco.

"This is my son, Draco," Lucius said quickly. Draco forced himself to meet the scarlet gaze. He knew, on some instinctive level, that he must not show weakness. "I'm sure I mentioned him when last I saw –"

"And this?" He turned to Ginny.

Lucius hesitated for a split second, then barreled forward. "This is a friend of Draco's, staying at the Manor this summer – Ginny Weasley."

The Dark Lord tilted his head a bit, regarding her with more interest. "Have the Weasleys come over to my side and no one told me?" he asked coolly.

"They have not," Lucius replied. "They are –"

"And this one is…?"

"In Slytherin," Ginny cut in, and Draco noted with a strange flash of pride that her voice was steady. "Estranged from my family."

The Dark Lord did not respond, but his eyes narrowed a bit, searching Ginny's face, and suddenly Draco felt her stiffen against his hand. Her eyes shut tight. After a long moment, something like amusement crossed the Dark Lord's face, and his lips stretched into an eerie grin.

"Lucius," he said, not taking his eyes off Ginny, "the other night when we had our little…discussion about the diary I entrusted to you and which you so carelessly mishandled, you were not honest with me."

"My Lord!" Draco's father protested. "I don't know what you –"

"Tell me, Miss Weasley," he interrupted, "how _was_ my sixteen-year-old self?"

Draco froze, suddenly unable to breathe, but Ginny did not seem in the slightest bit surprised that he _knew_, and Draco wondered what had passed between them in those short few seconds.

There was a long pause, then Ginny said, "Not particularly pleasant."

And the Dark Lord laughed, though it didn't seem to reach his eyes. "No, I don't remember being…particularly pleasant," he agreed. "It might have been nice to know for sure, but I suppose young Draco's escapades with Harry Potter have put that possibility to rest forever, isn't that right, Draco?"

The red eyes flicked to him. They seemed to bore into him, seeing into his very soul, and suddenly, of its own accord, the memory of himself lifting the Basilisk fang high and bringing it down into the center of the diary flashed across his mind.

Draco nodded. "Yes," he confirmed.

"Mm," the Dark Lord said thoughtfully. Then, quite suddenly, he said harshly, "Out, both of you."

They didn't need to be told twice. He and Ginny left the room as quickly as they could, and as soon as the door closed behind them, Ginny started down the hall toward the staircase, obviously determined to put as much distance between herself and the Dark Lord as she could, in as little time as possible.

"Wait, Ginny," Draco said in a harsh whisper. The conversation was continuing within, and he hesitated, wanting to hear what the Dark Lord's verdict about them would be. But she had already turned the corner, leaving Draco alone in the hall with the voices filtering out from beneath the door.

"My Lord, I swear, I had not meant to keep this from you…."

"And yet, you did," he replied. "I understand your hesitation to be…open with me, Lucius. Your son was the one who destroyed my diary and your little guest brought that destruction about."

"My Lord, I am so sorry, I –"

"Shut up, Lucius," the Dark Lord commanded harshly, and Lucius fell silent. Draco could hear his heart pounding in his ears, drumming loud against the heavy silence. "Do not look so frightened, coward. And tell your wife to stop whimpering. I do not mean to punish them now. No, they will both be given a chance to atone for what they have done…in due time."

"My Lord?" Lucius said uncertainly.

"They will both be very useful, and very soon, I am sure. Keep them both safe until then, the girl especially. Her…heritage, such as it may be, will doubtless present us with a great many opportunities in the future."

Draco began to back away. Now that he knew that he and Ginny wouldn't be killed immediately, he found that he didn't want to know any more about the Dark Lord's…plans for them.

As he climbed the stairs, he considered telling Ginny what he'd just heard…the words "I told you so" crossed his mind. If she stayed here, she would be used for far worse than his father's schemes. But he just went to his own room instead.

He already knew she wouldn't listen.

* * *

><p>It was two in the morning and he was still wide awake, staring up at the dots of stars on his enchanted canopy, when there was a soft knock on the door. He knew even before she slipped into the room that it was Ginny, and he didn't move as she slid beneath the covers and folded her body up against his.<p>

"Is this going to become a regular occurrence?" he asked in a whisper, trying for humor. "Because, if so, I may need to invest in a bigger bed."

"Fuck off," she murmured, but he heard the faintest thread of a smile beneath her voice, and he felt the tension that had been heavy between them for the past week evaporate. "I had a nightmare."

"I figured as much," he replied.

"Can I stay?" she asked, more softly, and he nodded against her hair. Of course she could, the stupid bint. "I'm sorry I yelled at you before," she added.

"It's okay."

After that, her nightmares only got worse, and she started coming to him three nights a week, and then four, and then six, until finally she knocked on his door and curled up against him even when she didn't have a bad dream, because it was comforting either way.

And as the summer passed, Draco got used to falling asleep and waking up with Ginny warm beside him.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Phew! Fast update, right? :)

So a lot happened in this chapter. I actually meant to have one more scene - an important one - but I think it fits better at the beginning of the next chapter anyway. There are tons of things I'd love to hear your opinions on (i.e. Ginny and Draco's fight, Graham Ives, Blaise's interest in Ginny, the Voldemort scene, Ginny and Draco getting closer), and as always, I love general comments and constructive criticism. So fire away!

Question of the chapter: **Who do you most admire?**


	21. Attraction

**Chapter 21: Attraction**

_The last night of summer_

"So am I flattered or offended?"

Draco shrugged reflexively, though he knew Ginny couldn't see him. He shut his eyes and ran his fingers through his hair, letting the warm spray of water wash away the last suds of shampoo. "No idea," he replied. "On the one hand, she was a Black, and I think she and my mum were close when they were young. On the other, she _did_ marry some idiotic Muggleborn…."

"And was consequently blasted out of metaphorical existence?" she replied wryly.

"Right." He turned to shut off the water. "Pass me the towel, will you? And the clothes, too."

He could hear Ginny moving around outside, and then she tossed his fluffy blue towel and two pieces of fabric over the top of the shower door.

"It's probably a safer bet to go with offended, isn't it?"

He laughed as he dried himself off and pulled on his boxers and t-shirt. "Probably."

When he emerged, he found Ginny sitting casually on the countertop, already in her own pajamas. Her hair was still wet from her own shower, and it swung down to the small of her back.

"What's that?" he asked, nodding to the bottles in her lap – six of them, held together by plastic rings. They clinked together as she held them up, and he scanned the labels as he headed out into the bedroom. "Firewhiskey?"

She grinned and hopped off the counter to follow him. "A bit stronger, but essentially. It's our last night of freedom," she said. "And I figure by tomorrow morning you'll be in full Prefect mode." She nodded toward his train bag, which stood half-open on top of the dresser. His robes were hanging over the edge, his brand new Prefect badge shiny on the lapel. "And you won't let us get away with anything."

He smiled and gestured for her to toss him one. He popped the cap, taking a long swig and steeling himself as the liquid burned strong down his throat. "Don't worry," he said with a grin. He crossed the room to sink down on the sofa. "I'm not above favoritism."

"Well, that makes me feel better," she replied, settling herself beside him. She folded her legs beneath her so she was cross-legged, her knees pressing against his right thigh, and clinked her bottle against his with a wide smile. "To Prefect corruption."

He smirked. "Toasting corruption? Blaise and I have taught you well," he mused, taking another swig. This one burned a little less. His throat was already going numb. Bloody hell, this was strong stuff.

* * *

><p>An hour and a half later found them sprawled across his bed, the blankets and sheets in a mess around them. Her head was settled in the crook of his shoulder, and his fingers were tangling distractedly in her hair. Draco felt a bit like he was floating…the alcohol had blazed through his system, leaving him pretty far along the road to being drunk.<p>

"Do you think there's something about me that just _attracts_ older brother figures?" Ginny mused, taking a sip of her drink.

"What are you on about?"

"Older brother figures," she repeated. "I always have them in excess. There were my _real_ older brothers," she continued, counting off on her fingers. "And then Cedric…and even Harry and Neville tell me to be careful every chance they get. And I've had you and Blaise for years…."

Draco couldn't help snorting.

He watched her brow furrow. "What?"

"Nothing," he murmured, smirking now.

She disentangled their limbs and flipped over onto her stomach. "_What_?"

"_Nothing_," he repeated, laughing.

She rolled her eyes, but there was a smile playing around her lips. "I'm being serious. Graham Ives – do you know him? My year." He nodded. "He told me something rather…alarming at the beginning of the summer. He said there are boys who fancy me who –"

"Who's the one with the oversized ego now?"

She hit him and shot him a glare that made him laugh harder before continuing. "– _who_ won't ask me out because they're worried you might hex off their bollocks or something."

"He actually said they're afraid I'll 'hex off their bollocks?'"

"No, but I think that would be your punishment method of choice, don't you?"

"Mm, sounds plausible." He paused. "Well, whatever _Graham Ives_" – he said the name skeptically, and Ginny smirked – "may have said about _me_, I'm one hundred percent certain that Zabini does _not_ want to be your older brother."

Her eyebrows went up and she regarded him for a moment, blinking. Then she nodded slowly. "That explains it, then."

Now _his_ eyebrows went up. "What do you mean?"

"He's been writing me this summer."

"He writes you every summer."

"Thanks, genius," she teased, leaning her head down on her hand and running her bottle thoughtfully along her bottom lip. "No, it's been different this time. Flirty, of course."

"Of course," Draco agreed, taking a last swig of whiskey to finish his bottle – was it his fifth? He leaned over to set it on the floor beside the bed.

"But also strangely sincere, like he's got something to prove." She paused, then rolled her eyes. "And he hasn't boasted about any of his recent conquests."

He laughed. "You are talking about _our_ Blaise Zabini, right?"

"Shocked as I am to admit it."

Draco's brows rose to his hairline as he watched her expression, and he had a sudden thought. He propped himself up on his elbows. "Would you say yes, if he asked you?"

She shrugged. "Maybe just to find out what all the fuss is about."

He laughed, letting his head fall back. "Classy."

"Says Draco Malfoy."

"Mm, touché."

She reached out, grinning, and ruffled his hair. He protested, feigning annoyance like he always did, but he realized that his protests were rather half-hearted right now. Her fingertips felt good across his scalp. "Merlin," she said after a moment, "it's bloody freezing in here. I'm opening a window."

She pushed herself up and deposited her bottle on the bedside table, and he watched her as she crossed the room. She ran a hand through her hair as she threw open the window, and the warm summer breeze filtered through the copper strands, tousling them around her face. When she came back toward the bed, a smile on her face, he saw that she was flushed pink from the whiskey.

She stepped up so she was standing on the bed, her right arm raised above her and her hand holding onto the top of the canopy, helping her balance. He looked up at her as she walked along the bottom of the mattress, and he realized with a jolt at the base of his stomach, that his eyes were skimming of their own accord from her face down the curve of her neck and lower, to where the breeze was making her long sleeping shirt cling to her.

He exhaled, suddenly thinking of what Blaise had said at the party, months ago.

_I mean, bloody hell, _look_ at her_.

He vaguely remembered thinking that he didn't need to look, because he already knew Ginny was good-looking and had since the Yule Ball. But that had been different, somehow. There was a difference between thinking someone looked pretty and thinking they looked…well….

He met her eyes and felt another jolt in his stomach.

Just how much whiskey had he _had_, anyway?

"Do you believe in soul mates?" she asked suddenly, and now she had looked away from him and was studying the constellations of the canopy up close.

He shut his eyes tight for a moment, recovering. "Now I _know_ you're not talking about Zabini," he joked.

She laughed. "I'm talking about us, you idiot," she said. "You know, soul mates – people who know each other better than they know themselves, who need each other…all that. Do you think that's us?"

"I think two people can know each other really well and need each other without putting a cheesy label on it," he replied, smirking.

She made a sound of mock offense and collapsed beside him, obviously with the full intention of hitting him around the head, but Draco cut her off by doing something reckless.

He didn't think about it, and he was half certain his body was acting without input from his brain anyway.

He caught her face in his hands and kissed her.

She responded immediately, which made him wonder just how much _she'd_ had to drink, but then her tongue swept eagerly into his mouth, and he wasn't wondering anything anymore. He groaned lightly, felt her smile against his lips, and his left hand slid into her hair and then down her back. He could feel that her skin was hot through the thin fabric of her pajamas.

Her own fingers were running up and down his sides, teasing every few seconds against the bottom of his t-shirt, like she wasn't quite sure whether or not she wanted to pull it off him, and his mind was just beginning to process what it would mean if she _did_, when she pulled suddenly away.

She was breathing hard, and she shifted so they weren't touching. He found that he was holding his breath, and that even through the slight haze of the whiskey, he could still process the uncomfortable thought that he'd made a horrible mistake. But then she looked up at him, a cheeky smile on her face, and flopped down on her back beside him.

"You should be careful where you put that tongue, Malfoy," she said, her voice lilting with humor. "It's going to get you in trouble one day."

He grinned. He could always count on Ginny to be…easygoing about these things. He sank down off his elbows, and they lay there in silence for a moment before she turned her body toward him, curled against his side, and asked him teasingly if he was going to be a hypocrite during Prefect rounds and dock points when he found people snogging in broom cupboards.

They talked easily for another hour, about school and Quidditch and nothing at all, and as sobriety began to settle, letting him see in stark clarity again, he couldn't help thinking that it was a good thing Ginny had stopped whatever _that_ had been, because he sure as hell hadn't been in control.

That thought left his chest tight with apprehension. And as Ginny pressed herself closer against him, her eyes heavy with sleep, he thought that bloody hell….

He was well and truly fucked.

Because, he realized, soul mates or not, he was achingly physically attracted to his best friend.

_Fuck._

* * *

><p><em>Tap. Tap. Tap.<em>

Ginny didn't bother opening her eyes.

She and Draco had stayed up late last night drinking and talking and laughing and _kissing_. She resisted the urge to shake her head amusedly. He'd kissed her out of the blue, and hard. She had meant what she'd said – that tongue, especially when mixed with strong Firewhiskey, was going to get him in trouble someday.

But now it was the morning after, the Express was barreling through the countryside, and she was exhausted.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

"Whose is that?" Crabbe's voice.

"No idea," Goyle replied.

"Well don't you think someone ought to let it in?" Blaise said impatiently from above her. Her head was resting in his lap, and his fingers were running lazily through her hair.

She heard one of them get up to unlatch the window, then rustling, and then felt an envelope fall directly on her stomach. She opened her eyes just in time to see the bird disappear out the window. "Apparently it's for you," Blaise said amusedly.

She pushed herself upright and turned the envelope over, recognizing the handwriting immediately. Why the hell was _Percy_ writing to her, of all people? She slid her finger beneath the flap and broke the seal before she realized that Crabbe, Goyle, and Blaise were all staring at her expectantly.

She shot them all a dry look. "I'm going to go read this outside," she said. She smirked at the look of mock-hurt Blaise gave her as she left.

Out in the corridor, a few groups of students were standing in cramped semi-circles, talking loudly about their summers and catching up. Ginny glanced up the train; somewhere in one of the forward compartments, Draco and Parkinson were in their first Prefect meeting of the year.

She leaned against the side of the train and unfolded the letter.

_Dear Ginny,_

_As you may have been informed, I have parted ways with our family._

Ginny stopped short, shocked. When had this happened? She forced her eyes back to Percy's neat script.

_I was promoted to the position of Minister Fudge's Junior Assistant about a month ago, and Dad and I got into an argument about his and Mum's continued support of Potter and the anti-Ministry lies he has been spreading. Unfortunately, our disagreement got somewhat out of hand, and I have been forced to distance myself from him and the rest of our family. I am confident that this is the correct course of action._

_I know that you took similar steps at the beginning of the summer. Though you acted for different reasons, I believe that you did exactly the right thing by placing your trust in Minister Fudge and Lucius Malfoy. I know that it will be difficult for you to continue in this course now that the Hogwarts term is beginning once more. Professor Dumbledore is supportive of Potter and will doubtless try to influence the students, despite the precautions Minister Fudge has taken._

Ginny's brow creased at that last bit. Precautions?

_Furthermore, it's likely that the twins and Ron will try to convince you to return to the family._

She suppressed a snort at that. Not bloody likely. They were probably so angry that they wouldn't speak a word to her all term.

_However, I want you to know that you are acting correctly in all of this and should not be swayed by Dumbledore, our family, or anyone else. If the two of us carry on as we are, I think we may be able to increase the respectability of the Weasley name._

_Please don't hesitate to write to me if you feel the need._

_Warm regards from your brother,_

_Percy_

She refolded the letter slowly, not sure what to make of it. Percy had always obeyed authority…Fred and George used to joke that he loved rules more than girls. Growing up with six siblings, she understood the impulse. The Burrow was loud, crazy, chaotic – she couldn't blame Percy for craving the structure.

She knew he was wrong though. Harry wasn't spreading lies, and the Minister was deluding himself. She shivered. She had been dreaming about Tom and those red eyes for months.

The cold jolt of fear was followed swiftly by a pang of something like guilt. The Weasley household was two children short now. Her mum must be devastated. She swallowed.

"Ginny?"

She looked up. Harry had just emerged from the compartment across from her and was looking at her questioningly.

"Hi," she said. Through the small window, she could just make out Luna and Neville sitting in his compartment.

"Did you…" – he gestured vaguely – "need something?"

"Oh, no," she said quickly, straightening. She realized that her lingering around his compartment door must have seemed odd. "I was just reading this…wanted a bit of privacy."

"Oh, right," he said. "You looked a bit uncomfortable. Everything all right?"

She glanced down at the letter before refolding it and stuffing it into her back pocket. "Yeah," she said. Harry leaned his shoulders back against the compartment door. "Just Percy."

She watched his jaw twitch and raised her eyebrows. "I just saw him," he explained. "At my disciplinary hearing. He was the scribe."

Ginny had heard about the hearing. Lucius had mentioned it in passing at dinner a few weeks back…something about Harry performing serious underage magic in his aunt and uncle's Muggle neighborhood. "I assume by the fact that you're here that it went well?" she asked.

His lips tilted in a wry smile at that. "Yeah, I suppose it did." He paused. "So how was your –"

"Excuse me, dears. Coming through." He was cut off by the snack lady, who bustled toward them, sweets of all kinds swaying precariously on her cart. She and Harry both straightened to make room between them, but the woman shot Harry a peeved look. "I need to get to the doors," she said, her tone clearly suggesting that he was a bit dim.

"Right." He crossed the corridor in two steps to stand next to Ginny. "Actually, do you want something?" he asked suddenly, turning to look down at her.

Her eyes swept over the cart as the woman pulled open the compartment door and said something to Luna and Neville. "I might get a chocolate frog," she said. "They're a bit of a weakness of mine," she added, grinning at him as she fished in her pocket for her coins.

"No, no," Harry said, putting a hand on her arm to still her movements. "Don't worry – I got it. I was going to get a few frogs anyway."

"Thanks, Harry, but it's not a big deal. I can –" But before she could finish, he had already paid and was holding out a frog.

"Thanks," she said, smiling. She ripped away the packaging.

"Who'd you get?" she asked, glancing over to him.

"Dippet," he said. He bit into his frog. "You?"

"Andros the Invincible."

"Mm, nice. He produced the giant-sized Patronus, right?"

She nodded, smirking. "Must've been some memory."

He laughed. "I'll say." She realized they were the only two students on this train who would know how good a memory Andros must've called up, because they were the only two who could produce Patronuses of their own. Harry seemed to be thinking the exact same thing, because he grinned at her.

"So how was your –" He stopped himself short, something guarded entering his expression. She knew he'd been about to ask about her summer, then remembered where she'd spent it. But he was saved from deciding whether or not ask by someone clearing their throat beside her.

"Graham," she greeted him, smiling. He was already in his robes, and he looked a bit tanner than she remembered. She recalled that in one of his letters he'd mentioned a trip to Italy in mid-July.

He smiled back. "Ginny. I thought it was you I heard out here."

"Harry, this is Graham Ives," she said. "He's in my year. And Graham, I'm sure you know –"

"Who doesn't?" Graham cut in. He made a derisive sound, and Ginny's brow furrowed.

Harry's walls were back up. He held out a hand, but his eyes skimmed warily over Graham's Slytherin robes. Graham didn't take it, instead just raising his eyebrows, and after a moment, Harry dropped his arm. "I think I better go back in," he said shortly. "I'm sure Ron and Hermione will be back from the Prefect meeting soon."

At that, Ginny's eyebrows went up to her hairline. Ron – a _Prefect_? But Harry had already re-entered his compartment, and the door slid shut behind him. After a moment, she turned to Graham. "So, how was Italy?" she asked.

He smiled, a genuine smile now. "It was good," he said. "And the rest of _your_ summer?"

* * *

><p><em>Several weeks later<em>

Draco sat with his legs outstretched on the coffee table and an arm draped easily around Marcia's shoulders. Blaise was lying on the sofa opposite, his head in one of Marcia's friend's lap. Draco didn't know her name. He didn't think Blaise did either.

"I never go to the perfume shop in Hogsmeade," whatever-her-name-was said.

"No?" Blaise replied lazily.

"No," she continued, voice bouncing enthusiastically. Draco smirked, wondering how she couldn't hear the utter boredom in Blaise's voice. "My mum sends me a new bottle every two months. It's much better quality."

"I'll bet."

Across the room, another group of students came in, laughing and swinging their shopping bags. Today had been the first Hogsmeade trip of the year, but by now the sun was setting outside, and everyone was filtering back to the Common Room.

As the girl carried on, Draco leaned his head back against the sofa and shut his eyes. He was tired. Snape had seen fit to appoint bloody Montague Captain of the Quidditch team, even though he'd only been an alternate player two years ago – and a damn bad one at that, Draco thought derisively. And _Captain_ Montague was making them practice every day at ridiculous hours. He ran a hand over his eyes. Of course, the fact that he and Ginny had to get up even earlier so she could sneak out of his bed before Blaise woke up wasn't helping matters.

Marcia moved closer, molding herself against his side, but he didn't move in response.

_Ginny_. It was getting increasingly difficult to hide the fact that he found her really fucking _attractive_. At the first Prefect meeting – the one on the Express – he'd been distracted as all hell, the memory of kissing her the night before playing over and over in his mind…the way she'd smelled and tasted and _felt_ against him….

He had hoped, then, that it had just been the alcohol, and that once the year got started, the attraction would fade. But of course, it hadn't, and several nights over the last few weeks, he'd dreamed – _really dreamed_ – about her, only to wake up, sweating, with her body curled against his in his bed. On each of these occasions, it had taken real willpower to disentangle their limbs and force himself out of the four-poster and into the loo. When he'd come back, she'd been sitting up, hair tousled from sleep, and had asked if he was all right.

_Gods_, it was bloody impossible. What the _hell_ was wrong with him? This was Gin – little _Ginny Weasley_, his best friend – for Merlin's sake!

A light nudge against his shoe pulled him from his thoughts, and he looked up sharply to see Blaise nodding over his shoulder.

Speak of the devil. Ginny and Graham Ives had just come in – from their Hogsmeade date, Draco noted wryly – and they were lingering in the entrance corridor. As he watched, Ives leaned in to say something next to Ginny's ear, and she smiled and nodded. And then Ives turned ever-so-slightly, ran a hand along her arm, and kissed her.

Draco felt a sharp flash of jealousy, followed swiftly by a pang of annoyance at himself. Gritting his teeth, he pushed all that down, then plastered an amused smile on his face to match the hooting and catcalls of the other students in the Common Room.

Ginny pulled away, flushed, and flashed Ives another smile before shooting the general room a sardonic look. Ives strode toward the boys' staircase, looking infuriatingly pleased with himself. Some other idiot Fourth Year actually clapped him on the back, Draco noted, suppressing an eye-roll. Meanwhile, Ginny scanned the sofas. She spotted them and headed over.

"Shall we assume the date went well?" he asked as she sank down on Blaise's sofa. She prodded Blaise's outstretched shoe, and he sat upright, shaking his head in annoyance when Marcia's friend tried to lean her head on his shoulder. Draco smirked at the offended look on her face, but Blaise didn't even notice. He had turned his body completely to face Ginny.

"Mm," she responded. She was feigning nonchalance, but Draco saw the satisfied smile playing around her lips. Apparently it had gone _very_ well. He tried to ignore the second jolt of annoyance this sent through his chest.

"So?" Blaise asked, eyebrows raised expectantly.

Ginny's eyes darted to Marcia and her friend, and Draco knew she wasn't about to share details in front of them if she could help it. Outside their little trio, she'd always kept things close to the chest.

"Give us a second, will you, Marcia?" he asked easily. She started in surprise, then shot him a miffed look. He just regarded her coolly. After a moment, she and her friend got up and stalked off.

"So?" Blaise repeated, slinging an arm around Ginny's shoulder now.

"Went really well," she said.

"We saw," Draco replied. "Or rather, the whole Common Room saw," he added, echoing the words she'd said to him years ago. She met his eyes and grinned, obviously remembering it too.

"It was very tame, I assure you," she said. "Drinks, walked around a bit…nothing untoward."

"He's an amateur, obviously," Blaise teased.

"Careful," she returned, grinning. "That's my boyfriend you're talking about."

Draco's eyebrows went up to his hairline.

She caught his look and rolled her eyes. "Like I said – it went _really_ well."

"You didn't say _that_ well," Blaise replied. His tone was light, but for the briefest second, Draco saw disappointed annoyance flash across his expression. But then it was gone, and he was back to his usual careless demeanor. "I'm heartbroken, Weasley. We would be so good together."

She snorted, nudging her shoulder against his side. "All talk, no action, Zabini."

Draco laughed. "Actually, if I recall correctly, you got all the talk and Samantha Vaisey got all the action."

Ginny burst into laughter. "Oh, fuck off," Blaise said, aiming a kick at his foot, but he was grinning.

"Well if it's any consolation, Zabini," Draco continued easily, "you won't be the only heartbroken man in this school. Scarhead will be devastated."

Blaise laughed, but Ginny just looked utterly confused. "What?" she said.

"You haven't heard the rumors?" Blaise asked.

"I never seem to, do I?" she replied dryly.

"Apparently Saint Potter has a crush on you," Draco explained.

A pause, then Ginny barked out a laugh. "Unlikely," she said dismissively.

"Well your _boyfriend's_ been telling everyone he was flirting with you on the train," Blaise replied. "And he _has _been staring an awful lot at meals…."

"Wait a second," Ginny cut in, looking thoroughly unconvinced. "He was _not_ flirting with me on the train. We talked for all of ten minutes and then he bought me a chocolate frog."

"He bought you a chocolate frog?" Blaise asked, eyes gleaming with sudden mirth. "That probably _was _the flirting. You know, probably –"

"Oh, Merlin, let me guess," she said, rolling her eyes again. "Typical Gryffindor seduction tactics?"

Blaise smirked. "Exactly," he replied.

Draco snorted. He leaned his head back against the sofa and shut his eyes once more, smiling amusedly.

The three of them sat there, talking and laughing, for several more hours as the Common Room emptied around them. Finally, around one in the morning, they headed up their respective staircases.

Ginny didn't sneak into Draco's bed that night.

He didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> I'll keep this short. I'm really looking forward to your thoughts on this chapter, so please review!


	22. Weasley Is Our King

**Chapter 22: Weasley Is Our King**

The chill November wind whistled past her ears and whipped against her cheeks. Every bit of exposed skin was tingling from the cold, but she kept her eyes narrowed on the hoops ahead. She could feel Johnson – the new Gryffindor Captain – close on her tail, and she leaned low over her broom to put more air between them.

Now the posts were looming closer. Ron was hovering in front of them. His Keeper's gear was fitted badly, she noted in passing. As she approached, she saw his brow furrow in concentration. If she twitched right, he would dive that way. She knew it from years of Weasley pick-up games. She smirked, twitched right, and jerked her broom left, tossing the Quaffle squarely through the leftmost hoop.

A cheer went up in the Slytherin section, and she turned to shoot Ron a cheeky wink. He scowled. "Bloody hell, Ron!" Johnson shouted, throwing her hands up in frustration. Ginny felt a twinge of sympathy for him.

"WEASLEY IS OUR KING! WEASLEY IS OUR KING! HIS SISTER GETS THE QUAFFLE IN! WEASLEY IS OUR KING!"

As the song went up in the stands, Blaise looped around and gave her an appreciative nudge. "Nicely done."

She smirked. "I do try."

"Back to the game, girls," Montague yelled from the other side of the pitch.

Ginny rolled her eyes and shot Blaise a significant look before wheeling her broom left and speeding off again.

Fifty minutes later, they were up nearly a hundred points. Johnson's berating and the song's lovely lyrics (courtesy of Pansy, though she suspected Draco and Blaise might have had something to do with it too) were making Ron sloppy, and Ginny knew all of his little ticks. She had just turned and passed the Quaffle to Montague when a swell of excited yells went up in the stands.

She whirled to see Draco and Harry both diving straight down at breakneck speed. Draco was leading by a hair, and Ginny found that she was holding her breath. Around her, the other players were hovering, unmoving, the Quaffle forgotten in the crook of Montague's arm. The two Seekers were still hurtling down, but the ground was rising up to meet them now, a mere fifteen feet below.

"Pull up, pull up, pull up," Ginny murmured under her breath, willing Draco to hear her. She had actually open her mouth to yell at him to _pull the hell up, you bloody moron_ when he jerked hard on his broom, leaving just Harry, who pushed himself an extra five feet before lurching up and left, his feet actually _brushing_ against the ground.

He held his hand aloft, the Snitch glittering in his palm.

Ginny groaned, letting her head fall back to look up at the cloudy gray sky as the Gryffindor section erupted in cheers. After a moment she straightened and started down to the ground. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Draco and Montague standing in a close – unusually close – semicircle with Harry and the twins. Her brow furrowed.

She dismounted and made her way over.

"– lyrics were all fairly accurate though, wouldn't you say, Potter?" Draco spat. "Ginny wiped the pitch with him. How many goals was it again?" He laughed. "How he made the bloody team, I'll never know…."

"How's your Nimbus treating you again, Malfoy?" Harry spat back.

The twins laughed, and now Montague joined in. "Merlin, half your bloody team is Weasleys. Can't even scan the pitch without seeing someone ginger and freckled. It's no wonder that pigsty you live in smells so bad – I bet your cow of a mum didn't have enough brooms to clean it out."

Fred and George both turned beet red, and George snapped, "I'd shut up if I were you, Montague. Your star player came out of that _pigsty_."

"Yeah, and got out as fast as she could, didn't she?" Draco returned. "Must've been a relief to breathe clean air."

Fred surged forward. "All right, that's it, you albino little –"

"Oh, that's right," Draco hissed derisively, "Potter's security team of brainless Weasleys doing his dirty work for him, as always." Montague laughed aloud.

In a blink, Fred's elbow cocked back for a punch, Draco's did the same, and Harry launched himself in Montague's direction. Ginny threw herself forward, narrowly missing Fred's fist. "ENOUGH!" she yelled. She pushed Draco back by the shoulders and whirled on Fred. "Enough!" She turned to shoot Harry a glare too.

"Get out of the way, Ginny!" Fred said hotly.

"Didn't you _hear_ what he said?" George stepped forward, trying to shove her out of the line of fire.

"George – stop!" she yelled again, pushing back. "You're being a fucking idiot!"

"Why are you always bloody protecting him, Ginny? You –"

"SHE'S RIGHT!" Harry's voice cut through the fray, and everyone turned to look at him. He was breathing hard and his eyes were blazing, but he ran a frustrated hand through his hair and stepped back. "They're not worth it," he said, pulling the twins back with him.

"Ahem."

They all turned to see Umbridge standing at the edge of their semicircle, her High Inquisitor's robe slightly askew, revealing her usual pink suit set beneath.

"What do we have here?" she asked sweetly, tapping one pointed heel against the pitch.

"Nothing," Ginny said, meeting Umbridge's eyes. She forced a cool smile onto her face. "A friendly disagreement."

"Oh? I could have sworn it was a fight breaking out." She giggled, and Ginny forced herself not to wince. "And given that Mr. Potter is involved, I can only assume that he was the instigator. You _do_ like to get into trouble, Mr. Potter." Another giggle.

Draco's eyes were narrowed in Harry's direction. "A Quidditch suspension might cool his heels, don't you think, Professor?" he asked sweetly.

Ginny arched an eyebrow at him. Harry had helped her stop the fight, and she hated when Draco pulled the childish finger-pointing card. She wasn't about to let him get away with _that_. "Don't be silly, Malfoy," she said, smiling at him, "I'm sure the _High Inquisitor_ has more important things to deal with than enforcing Quidditch suspensions."

Draco met her eyes. His fake smile twitched with surprised amusement.

Umbridge smiled dotingly at her. "That _is_ true," she murmured breathily. "Enforcing Educational Decrees One through Twenty-Four _does_ take up a great deal of time." She paused. "Well, I will note this down as…how did you put it, dear? A 'friendly disagreement,' was it? But I won't be so lenient if it happens again, Mr. Potter." She scribbled something on the clipboard at her elbow, gave them all a last imperious look, and moved away.

"Care to explain that, Weasley?" Draco asked lowly as they headed toward the locker room.

She shouldered her broom and flashed him a grin. "That loss was a near thing," she said lightly. "I'm just giving you a chance to beat Potter fairly next time around."

He laughed. "What for? I could have beaten him _unfairly_ _this_ time around?"

She snorted. "I think that's just the sense of sportsmanship the inventors of Quidditch were going for."

"The inventors of Quidditch were using sheep's bladders for Quaffles. I don't think they were squeamish about a little unfairness here and there."

"Mm, fair point," she mused. They entered the locker room, and Ginny crossed to her locker and began turning the ancient dial.

"Bloody hell, what took you two so long?" Blaise asked, looking up from across the aisle. "Did you take the long way off the pitch? Loop around the whole castle? Visit London?"

"Malfoy and our fearless leader almost got in a fistfight with a couple Gryffindors," she explained. "Umbridge needed to be defused." She finally pulled open her locker and deposited her broom inside.

"Weasley played hero and saved those same Gryffindors from suspension," Malfoy added.

"Mm, the usual then," Blaise said amusedly. A pause, then, "What the hell was that dive, by the way, mate? We would've been up by a hundred-fifty in another fifteen minutes with the way Weasley was Keeping."

"I can't help when Potter sees the Snitch, genius," Draco replied peevishly.

"Maybe _you_ would've seen it if you weren't so busy staring at Weasley's arse," Blaise laughed.

"Hey!" Ginny protested, pulling off her trainers. "Don't bring me into this!"

She piled underwear, shirt, jeans, and wand under her arm, then hip-checked the locker door closed with a clang.

"It's _your_ arse," Draco commented, voice lilting with humor.

"It's _your_ custom-made uniforms," she quipped, smirking as she passed them on her way to the showers. She tossed Blaise a look over her shoulder. "Which _you_ requested, if I recall."

Blaise laughed. "Damn."

When she left the locker room twenty minutes later, showered and changed, she found Harry leaning against the side of the building. His hair was wet and miraculously flat on his head. "You seem to have Malfoy wrapped around your finger," he commented.

She shrugged. "It's give and take. Anyway, I had to do something - all the bloody testosterone was giving me a headache."

Harry laughed. "I thought it all dissipated when Umbridge arrived."

"Mm," Ginny agreed. "Too much pink."

"Too much giggling," he quipped, and she grinned. He paused. "I figured I ought to thank you for saving me from suspension."

"No problem. Doesn't mean I won't be cheering for Malfoy to kick your arse if we're both in the finals."

"Cheer all you want," he returned, grinning cheekily. "Won't help."

She snorted. "Pretty confident for someone who nearly hit the pitch back there. I thought you were taking a page out of Krum's book and feinting."

"Nope, not a Dementor in sight."

She paused, then burst into laughter. "Witty," she said.

He shrugged and pushed himself off the wall. "I try. I should get to dinner, I think," he said. He paused, as if he wanted to say something more, but settled on a neutral, "Anyway, thanks again," before loping off in the direction of the castle.

She smiled, shaking her head, and turned her head to see Blaise leaning against the locker room doorway, an amused smile on his lips. "And what was it you were saying about Scarhead _not_ fancying you?"

* * *

><p><em>A month and a half later, mid-December<em>

_The floor was slick with blood, and she could feel someone's warm breath on her neck. Her heart was pounding. She could hear ringing in her ears as she tried to get away. She crossed the foyer – of Malfoy Manor, she realized – but the breathing was hot against the nape of her neck, and suddenly her bare feet slipped on the tiles, sending her skidding toward the staircase. Blood smeared behind her, a track of bright red against the white, white floor._

"_Hello, Ginevra."_

_She looked up. Tom stood above her, a terrifying mixture of his teenage and re-born selves. He had his sixteen-year-old face – the same handsome features, the same cold smile – but his skin was bone-white. And the eyes – scarlet red._

"_Do you recognize the blood?" he asked. His smile widened. "No, you wouldn't, would you?"_

_He looked past her, and she turned to follow his gaze. Draco was crumpled in the corner, red blood seeping from beneath his body._

_She felt all of her muscles spasm in terror._

_Tom laughed. "Your turn."_

Ginny's eyes flew open. She was in her bed, the hangings pulled tight to block out the light of the full moon. Her chest rose and fell in a hard, fast rhythm, and she ran both hands roughly over her face. She was sweating.

She pushed herself upright, willing her arms to stop shaking, and grabbed her wand from her nightstand before stumbling into the loo. She murmured the spell to light the sconces on the wall and surveyed herself in the mirror. Her skin was pallid, which threw the dark circles under her eyes into sharp relief. She hadn't been sleeping well, not for weeks.

The nightmares weren't any worse than they had been during the summer, but ever since she and Graham had started up almost three months ago, she'd been sleeping in her own dormitory. And as time went on, she was feeling Draco's absence more and more keenly. His presence had made the nightmares seem less real somehow, even as she was dreaming them…as if her mind subconsciously knew that they were both actually together and safe.

And on the less frequent nights when she'd still woke up sweating and shaking, he'd always pulled her closer and rubbed a soothing hand up and down her spine, murmuring meaningless words into her hair until she could close her eyes again. She was actually fairly certain he'd been asleep as he'd done it, somehow knowing what she needed without even being aware of it.

The thought made her lips tilt into a smile for a brief moment, but then she shook herself. She was dating someone now, and this was the price. She'd just have to buck up and pull herself together.

She splashed cold water on her face and forced herself to go back to bed.

* * *

><p>"Since when do we have bloody <em>Christmas<em> _parties_?" Blaise grumbled, taking a swig of Firewhiskey.

The Common Room was loud and crowded. There was decent music on – not that awful shite they'd played at the Yule – and someone had brought in cases of whiskey and wine. Everyone in the House was here, sprawled across the sofas or leaning against the walls. Draco was sitting with Blaise and Marcia on one of the sofas in the center of the room. Pansy, Daphne, Crabbe, and Goyle lounged opposite.

Slytherin didn't usually have Christmas parties, but spirits were high this year. All of their families were high in the Ministry's esteem, Potter and his merry band of Gryffindors were being regularly degraded in the Prophet, and Umbridge was making things easy for them. Draco leaned his head back and smiled.

"Since it's the holiday season," Crabbe replied.

"Merlin, Zabini," Pansy put in, swirling the red wine in her glass, "why the foul mood?"

Blaise shot her a sardonic look. "Stressed about the O.W.L.S.," he replied, rolling his eyes, and they all laughed. The exams were coming up in a few months – it was a running joke that they could measure the time by the frizziness of Granger's hair – but none of them were bothering to study. They all had connections and stood to inherit, except for maybe Daphne, whose father had lost the family fortune. But she had other…assets, Draco thought, smirking.

As the rest of the group fell into conversation about something else, Draco observed Blaise's profile. All jokes aside, he _was_ in a foul mood.

"What's wrong with you?" he asked in a low voice.

Blaise leaned his own head back and scowled. "What're you on about?"

He grinned wryly. "We're going to have to work on your Christmas spirit," he said.

"Sod off."

"Well?"

Blaise rubbed his hands roughly over his face, then nodded vaguely toward one corner of the room. Draco followed his gaze. Ginny and Ives were sitting in an armchair, surrounded by a couple of other Fourth Years. "Even _I _think I'm a fucking embarrassment," Blaise said.

"For wanting Weasley?"

Blaise shot him a look that plainly said he was an idiot. "I've wanted plenty of girls – or hadn't you noticed?"

Draco laughed. "I sleep in the bed next to yours, Zabini. It'd be hard _not_ to bloody _notice_."

Blaise smirked at that. After a pause, Draco glanced from him to Weasley and Ives and back again. His eyebrows went up.

"For _fancying_ Weasley then?"

Blaise snorted mirthlessly, then turned and tossed his whiskey bottle across the room and into the bin. Some of the older boys hooted in approval at his aim. He pushed himself off the sofa. "I need another drink."

Draco stood and followed him across the room. His memories of the last night of summer were hazy, blurred by alcohol, but he remembered Ginny talking about Blaise's letters – _strangely sincere, like he's got something to prove_.

"You sure this isn't just because of Ives?" he asked, taking a sip from his own bottle.

Blaise leaned back against the drink table. "It was at first," he mused. Then he shook his head. "Not anymore. Like I said, fucking embarrassment."

Draco considered his friend for a long moment, then glanced at Ginny again. Her eyes were closed, and when Ives leaned in to press a kiss to her neck, just below her ear, and Draco felt his own now-familiar jolt of jealousy. He supposed it wasn't surprising that he wanted her and Blaise fancied her. She was the sexiest girl in the House, by far. Hell, half the men in this room probably wanted her based on that alone. And he and Zabini actually _knew_ her.

He shook himself. "Come on, mate, we are _not_ spending the whole fucking night mooning over Weasley." He realized too late that he'd said "we," but Zabini didn't seem to notice, and he barreled forward. "You need a distraction."

"What did you have in mind?" Blaise asked, arching an eyebrow in amusement.

Draco considered, then set his bottle down on the table hard and shot Blaise a disappointed look. "You're right, it's fucking embarrassing that _you _of all people are asking that question. Watch and learn."

And with that, he strode across the room and pulled Marcia to her feet. "I'm going to kiss you," he said. "If you don't want me to, feel free to slap me."

Her eyes sparkled in surprise, but then she leaned in to close the space between them. And right before their lips met, she said, in a voice that went straight through his body and _almost_ made him forget about Ives latched to Ginny's neck: "Took you long enough."

* * *

><p>A cheer went up in the room and she felt Graham shift beside her.<p>

"He has a real flair for performance, doesn't he?" he said, voice lilting with laughter.

"Hm?" Ginny asked.

"Malfoy."

She opened her eyes just in time to see Draco and Marcia Gamp pull apart. He whispered something in her ear, then drew her toward a darker corner of the room, where he leaned over her to kiss her again.

"Apparently so," she said, letting her eyes fall closed again.

There was a pause, and she could practically _feel_ Graham's eyes on her. "You look tired," he said finally.

She snorted. _Obviously_. But all she said was, "I didn't sleep well, that's all – had a nightmare."

He moved closer, returned his lips to her neck. His breath against her skin reminded her of her dream, and she stiffened against him. He didn't seem to notice. "I have something that can help you with that," he murmured.

She opened her eyes, brows raised. "What?"

"I have something – a couple vials of Dreamless, upstairs."

At that, she pulled away. "That stuff's addictive, Graham," she said sharply. "Really addictive."

He rolled his eyes, laughing lightly.

She felt a sharp flash of annoyance. You could only get Dreamless Sleep Potion with a prescription from St. Mungo's, though she supposed you could get anything _anywhere _for enough money. It would get her through the night easily enough, but soon she wouldn't be able to sleep without it, and then she would need higher and higher doses. How could Graham offer her _that_ like it was nothing?

"You're the one who's tired, Gin," he said.

She had to force herself not to scowl. "I'd rather you didn't call me that."

"What?"

"Gin."

His eyes widened in surprise and he opened his mouth to speak, but just then someone called her name over the noise of the party. She looked up, and some Seventh Year gestured toward the entrance corridor. "Someone's outside, waiting to see you."

Her brow furrowed. "Who?" she asked.

By now half the Common Room was watching, and the Seventh Year smirked. "Potter."

There was some laughter, and Ginny rolled her eyes as she disentangled herself from Graham and stood. The rumor that Harry fancied her amused the other Slytherins no end.

"Ives, you better watch your witch," someone teased, "Potter might drag her into a broom cupboard when you're not looking."

Graham folded his arms, unruffled. "She wouldn't touch a Half-blood like him for a million Galleons," he said.

Ginny thought he sounded awfully confident, which irked her, so as she wound around their armchair, she smirked and said, "But if I wanted to, Ives, you couldn't stop me."

There was more laughter, and this time Graham _did _look a bit uncomfortable.

* * *

><p>Harry was pacing back and forth in the dungeons. Every few seconds, he ran both hands through his hair, his face contorted in a mix of agitation and pain. He looked even worse than Ginny felt – like he hadn't slept in days. She immediately felt her stomach drop, her mind flitting to bone-white skin and red eyes.<p>

"Harry, what's wrong?"

He looked up sharply. "I just came from St. Mungo's," he said, and she had to admire that despite how he looked, his voice was steady. "Your dad's there – he was bitten by Voldemort's snake."

For some reason, her brain refused to process what he'd just said. Her dad? Voldemort's snake? She didn't know what she'd been expecting him to say, but _that_ was not it. "He…what?"

"He was bitten," Harry repeated, coming closer. He put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. She met his eyes.

"When?" she asked.

"Last night. They found him in the Department of Mysteries. It was really chaotic…no one's really figured out what happened yet. And I realized just now that you probably hadn't heard." He paused. "It was really chaotic," he repeated, as if trying to justify everyone else having forgotten to tell her.

Her brow furrowed. None of what he was saying made any sense. Her brain felt sluggish. "The Department of Mysteries? Dad doesn't work there. He –"

She stopped short, realizing that for all she knew, her dad had transferred. He could have changed careers entirely for all she knew. It had been six months since she'd really spoken to anyone in her family, save Percy.

The realization that it had been that long made her stomach clench uncomfortably. She swallowed, steeling herself. "Is he all right?" she asked finally, and even she was surprised by how detached she managed to sound.

He nodded. "He was critical, but they think he's out of danger now."

"Good," she said shortly. "Well, thank you for telling me."

Harry looked surprised. "You're welcome," he replied slowly. "But is that…? You don't want to…?" He trailed off.

"Want to what?" she asked. "I can't _do_ anything. And you said yourself that he's all right."

Harry didn't speak for a moment, his eyes scanning her face, as if he was looking for something hidden beneath her cool exterior. But after a long moment, he just removed his hand from her shoulder. When he met her eyes again, his expression was harder than it had been. "Right." He paused, then, "I guess I should let you get back to your…party."

The way he said it made her cringe inwardly, but she kept her expression neutral as she said goodnight and retreated back into the Common Room.

"What did he want?" Graham asked when she rejoined the group.

"Nothing," she said shortly. She moved to sink back down next to him, then thought better of it. Her mind still felt…numb, somehow. "I'm going to go to bed, actually."

Graham looked at her incredulously. "_That_ tired? Are you sure about the Dreamless?"

She shot him a withering look. "Yeah. Goodnight."

She lay in bed, wide awake and staring at the canopy overhead, for hours. The numbness wore off slowly, and with it, the detachment. Images of her dad, mangled and bloodied on the floor of some Ministry department, formed in her mind and clung there.

One by one, she heard her roommates – except for Bridget, who was probably spending the night with her Seventh Year boyfriend – come upstairs and climb into bed.

She didn't know what time it was when she pushed her covers back, pulled on a pair of jeans and a thick jumper, and left the dormitory. She knew it was no use – there was nothing she could do – but that little bit of rationality didn't seem to stick.

The Common Room was nearly empty – a few students had fallen asleep draped across the sofas – and quiet. The music was off, and the fire was dying down in the grate. She crossed the room and made her way out into the dungeons, then up into the castle.

She only had to wait outside Gryffindor Tower for ten minutes before a giggling couple stumbled around the corner. She wasn't sure what she would have done if they hadn't arrived. "I need to speak to Harry," she said. They gave her a strange look, but she just stared back until they shrugged and ducked inside.

Several minutes later, Harry exited the portrait hole, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He was wearing his Weasley jumper and striped pajama bottoms. "Ginny?"

"Can you get me out of the castle?"

His brow furrowed. "Where are you…," he began, but then understanding crossed his expression and he nodded slowly. "Umbridge's fireplace," he said. "We can Floo."

"We?"

"It'll be easier if I bring you under the Cloak."

She raised her eyebrows, and she saw a small smile play around his lips as he turned back to re-enter the Common Room. "You'll see," he said. "I'll be right back."

* * *

><p>She stared down at her dad. Her throat was tight, and her fists were clenched at her sides. The clipboard at the base of his bed said they had him on Blood Replenishing Potion, but he still looked deathly pale, and his breathing was shallow.<p>

Harry was waiting outside, at the end of the hall. He had promised to warn her if her mum came back from the cafeteria. Ginny didn't want to run into anyone here. It was just…easier that way. But her Dad….

Before she could stop herself, she picked up the clipboard, ripped the bottom half of the top page off, and grasped the pen tightly in her hand. She didn't know what to say, so she just scribbled down a few words.

_Get well soon, Dad. – Ginny_

She was just folding it up when the door to the room creaked open. She looked up sharply, expecting Harry, and started.

"Percy?"

He nearly fell back in surprise. "Ginny?" he hissed, pushing his horn-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose. "What are you doing here?"

She paused, looking to their dad and back. "Same thing as you, I expect."

He exhaled, then nodded slowly and edged closer until he was standing beside her. "How is he?"

She shrugged and handed the chart over. Percy scanned it, eyes dancing so greedily across the pages that Ginny was sure he'd been desperate for information all day. The thought sent an unexpected pang straight to her heart.

She proffered the half-folded note. "Sign it," she said.

He looked at it, then shook his head. "I just wanted to make sure he was all right. I'm not…speaking to him anymore."

"Neither am I._ Sign it_," she repeated, more sharply this time. "He should know we came, at least."

Percy hesitated for a moment more before scribbling his name beneath hers. He drew his wand and cast a quick spell so it folded neatly down to the size of a Galleon. Ginny took it and pressed it into their dad's palm.

There was a soft knock on the door, and Harry peered inside. He looked startled to see Percy, which made Ginny wonder what spell her brother had used to get past him in the hall, but he swallowed down anything he might have said and opted for a gentle, "I think I hear your mum talking to the Mediwizard by the nurse's station."

"Right," Ginny said. She glanced down at her dad once more before heading toward the door, Percy at her heels.

The three of them left the hospital in silence.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> I know at this point you probably want to shake Draco and Ginny and yell, "What's wrong with you guys?" Trust me, I'm just as impatient as all of you – if not more! – for them to figure out that they're meant to be together. But I've always wanted this story to be about the development of their friendship, not just their romance, and also about other themes like family and loyalty. All of this requires a lot of non-romance-related plot. So I just want to give you all fair warning – they will get together, but I'm not going to make it easy for them and it's going to take several chapters yet. I do think it will be worth it, and I hope you'll stick with me :)

Anyway, sorry for the long note – please review!


	23. Of Occlumens and Inquisitors

**Chapter 23: Of Occlumens and Inquisitors**

_January 15_

"I think that's enough for now," Draco said, pulling away and leaning his shoulders back against the headboard.

"Mm…," Marcia murmured. She shifted on his lap and pressed light kisses to the corner of his lips. "I guess you're right…."

He smirked. "Aren't you meeting someone at the library?"

"Yeah," she sighed, swinging her leg over him and sliding off the bed. She readjusted her skirt over her hips and began running her fingers through her mussed hair. "A couple of us are studying for Potions. Two days into term and Snape's already being an arse."

"I heard he's started tutoring Potter after hours. That would make anyone act like an arse."

She laughed and shouldered her book bag. "True. I'll see you later."

As soon as she'd gone, Draco stood and went into the loo to straighten his tie and comb down his hair, then headed downstairs to the Common Room. He spotted Blaise, Crabbe, Goyle, and Daphne sitting with Ginny and Ives on a ring of sofas in the center of the room and began to wind his way over.

As he got closer, he could hear Ives speaking. "– _come on_, Ginny." He made a frustrated gesture, and Draco's brow furrowed. "I honestly don't know what you're making such a big deal about."

Ginny made an angry sound and pushed herself up and away from him. "Merlin, Graham," she snapped, "you don't _always_ have to be such an arse, you know."

Draco's eyebrows went up to his hairline as Ginny stormed away from the sofas. He grabbed her shoulder as she passed. "What's going on?"

"I _don't_ want to talk about it," she said sharply, pulling bodily out of his grasp. A moment later, she disappeared down the entrance corridor.

"For fuck's sake," Ives grumbled, getting up and following her. Their angry voices filtered back into the Common Room for several more seconds before they crossed into the dungeons outside.

Draco sank down next to Goyle. The rest of the group was laughing a bit nervously. "What the hell was that?" he asked.

Crabbe shrugged. "No idea. Weasley just exploded at him." He snorted. "Typical woman, that."

Goyle laughed, and Daphne rolled her eyes.

"As helpful as I find your mind-blowing insights on women, Crabbe," Draco replied derisively, "I was hoping for actual information."

Daphne giggled. "It _was_ rather out of the blue," she said thoughtfully. "We were just talking about the breakout…." She gestured down to the coffee table, and Draco followed her gaze to a copy of yesterday's Prophet someone had left there, his eyes skimming over the photos of the ten Azkaban escapees. The mass breakout was all anyone had been able to talk about for the past twenty-four hours. And right in the center of the page, her eyes disturbingly wide and her mouth open in a scream, was his Aunt Bellatrix.

His father had had something to do with it – he was sure of that. Lucius had written to him a month ago, instructing him to stay at school over the holidays because "complex plans were being laid" and it wouldn't do for him or Weasley to "get underfoot."

"…and we were wondering whether or not they'll come here to kill off some of the more annoying Mudbloods," Daphne was saying. "You know, like Granger or those Creevey boys. Would be doing us all a favor," she added with a tinkling laugh.

"Right…," Draco said, wishing she'd get on with it.

"And Graham said that there are easier ways to kill Mudbloods around here and that someone should just open the Chamber of Secrets again since it almost did the trick last time."

Draco froze, but managed to keep his expression neutral.

Daphne shrugged. "And she just…went off on him. Seemed a bit crazy, to be honest."

_I'll bet_, he thought wryly. He was probably the only other person in the world who knew what the Chamber had done to her – what it was still doing to her. Because of the Dark Lord and that damn diary, she'd been Sorted into Slytherin, slowly lost control of her own body, and nearly killed four of her fellow students. And this past summer, he'd woken on more than one occasion to find her whimpering about snake's skin and words written in blood. Draco grumbled low in his throat. Ives had no idea just what nerve he'd hit.

He almost felt sorry for the bloke. Almost.

"Not that analyzing past conversations isn't thrilling," Blaise said suddenly, "but _Malfoy_ – how's Marcia?"

"Fine, I imagine," he replied, pulling his thoughts away from Ginny and the Chamber.

"Fine?" Blaise asked, arching an eyebrow and smirking. "She looked a tad bit better than _fine_ when she came downstairs earlier." He paused, and his smirk widened to a smile. "Have you…?" He lifted an arm from the back of the sofa to gesture vaguely.

Draco rolled his eyes. "No, Zabini, I haven't."

"You _are_ aware she's going out with some Sixth Year from Durmstrang, aren't you?" Daphne said. "I heard they agreed to see other people during term, but still…."

"She told me," Draco replied shortly. "What do I care what she does during the summer?"

"More like _who_ she does," Blaise laughed. He reached under the table and retrieved their usual chess set. "All right, Malfoy. Now that your hands aren't otherwise engaged," – he raised his eyebrows suggestively – "you owe me a game."

* * *

><p>By eleven thirty that night, the rest of the dormitory – save Blaise, who was in the shower – was already in bed. Loud snores filtered out from behind Crabbe and Goyle's curtains. But Draco was sitting up, his brow furrowed and his finger tracing over a line in his Ancient Runes textbook in a last-ditch attempt to figure out what the hell it said. He and Nott were the only Slytherins who had elected to take it for O.W.L.s, and as Nott rarely spoke two words to anyone, he was left on his own. Draco shot an annoyed glare at Nott's drawn curtains.<p>

There was a light knock on the door, and Draco gave the text one last scowl before shoving it back into his book bag.

He swung the door open, ready to tell whoever it was to go away and come back in the morning, and stopped short.

"Weasley! What's –"

Her face broke into a wide grin and she ducked past him into the room, settling herself squarely on his mattress. He took in her clothing – pajama pants, one of her most threadbare sleeping shirts, and long socks – and his eyebrows went up. "Staying the night?"

"Shh," she hissed, still smiling. "Do you _want_ your whole dormitory to hear you?"

Just then, the shower turned off in the loo. "Malfoy, is someone here?" Blaise called through the door.

"Er…." Instinctively, Draco threw himself onto the bed and reached across Ginny's body for his wand. He shut the curtains tight, trying to think of a good lie and coming up blank. "…no," he finished lamely.

Ginny snorted loudly, then covered her mouth with her hands, eyes wide. Draco glared at her, which set her body shaking with silent laughter.

"Oh," Blaise said slowly. "I thought I heard someone knock."

"Thought wrong," he replied, feigning annoyance. "Merlin, Zabini, I'm trying to sleep."

Blaise laughed amusedly. "Fine. Goodnight, arsehole."

Draco cast a quick Silencing Charm around the bed, replaced his wand on the bedside table, and turned to Ginny. By now, she'd gotten herself under control and was climbing under the covers. "What are you doing here?" he asked.

She arched an eyebrow at him. "What does it look like?"

"Oh, how I've missed your sarcasm just before bed," he replied, rolling his eyes and scooting up to join her under the comforter. She immediately closed the distance between their bodies, burrowing into his chest.

He laughed lightly when she let out a contented sigh. "Missed me?"

She shot him a sardonic look. "No need to flatter yourself."

He grinned, running a hand up and down her spine and feeling her whole body relax by degrees, her muscles loosening against him. "Stressed?" he asked.

She shook her head and yawned. "Nightmares."

"Ah." He knew what she meant: she didn't sleep well without him. The thought made his chest feel oddly tight.

Just then, the loo door opened, and he heard Blaise emerge and pad around the room, extinguishing the light and climbing into bed.

"Ginny?" He whispered, even though the Silencing Charm prevented anyone from hearing him. With the curtains enclosing them in their own private darkness, whispering seemed appropriate somehow.

"Mm?"

"What are you doing here?"

She laughed. "Didn't you just ask that?"

"You know what I mean. Don't you think Ives is going to have a problem with this?"

She shrugged, her nose still buried in his chest. "Doesn't matter if he does or not. I broke up with him an hour ago."

Draco's eyebrows went up. He wasn't sure what to say. On the one hand, he'd never liked Ives, though that might've been the jealousy talking. On the other hand, Weasley might actually be upset. _That _seemed unlikely, based on the way she was acting, but still….

"I hate to speak ill of the recently broomed," he said finally, "but I can't say I'm too torn up about it. He always was an arse with no subtlety."

"Turned out to be, yeah," she replied.

"Was this about the Chamber comment?" he asked tentatively.

"Among other things."

"Right." He paused. "Do you want to talk about it?"

She looked up and met his eyes, and he was relieved to see that hers were sparkling amusedly. "Merlin, Malfoy, we do _not_ have to have this conversation. You're going to give yourself an aneurysm. It's not like I was in love with him."

Draco laughed aloud, rolling his eyes and mussing her hair a bit. "Thank Merlin for that," he said, extending his arm to stretch out his elbow. "I was worried I was going to have to walk you through the five stages of grief or something."

"I'm glad you think so highly of my emotional stability," she quipped. "Back," she added, and he returned his palm to its earlier trajectory. She sighed again, and he smiled into her hair.

"No," she mused, yawning again. Her eyelids were already sinking closed. "It's much better this way. At least now I can get a decent night's sleep."

* * *

><p>"Bulbadox juice, Bulbadox juice, Bulbadox juice…<em>that's<em> what it needed last time," Ginny muttered to herself, moving to the next potion's cabinet and scanning the contents. "Where is it?" She spotted a likely-looking bottle behind the carefully measured-out vials of Horklump juice and pulled it forward. "Ah, here we go."

She shook the bottle. Nothing. It was empty. "Shite," she grumbled, looking sidelong at her cauldron. Her potion was simmering comfortably inside, and even from here Ginny could see that the liquid was beginning to turn a lighter shade of green. She just needed the Bulbadox juice to make it shift to clear, and then it would be done.

At the beginning of the week, Snape had assigned each Fourth Year a potion to be completed and ready for inspection by next class. Ginny had completely botched up her first brew, so now she was alone in the Potions classroom, pulling overtime to finish the assignment.

She went back to the cabinet to look for another bottle, but didn't find one. She sighed. Snape would have a stock of Bulbadox in his office. She glanced at the clock on the wall. If she went now, she might be able to catch him before he went up to the Great Hall for dinner.

She cast a quick spell to lower the heat beneath her cauldron – it wouldn't do for it to boil over while she was gone – and exited the classroom, winding her way through the familiar green-lit dungeons to Snape's office.

The door was slightly ajar, and she knocked lightly before pushing it open. "Professor Snape, I'm sorry to bother you, but I –"

"_Legilime –_"

Ginny froze. Snape had heard her come in and had paused, his wand outstretched and pointing directly at Harry, who was leaning back against one of the walls. His fingers were folded so tightly around one of the stone ledges that his knuckles were white. It was as if he was steeling himself for something horrible.

Slowly, Snape lowered his wand hand to his side. He arched an eyebrow at her. "Do you have some kind of aversion to _knocking_, Miss Weasley?" he asked, obviously peeved.

"I'm sorry," she said quickly. "I must not have knocked loudly enough." She paused, eyes darting from the professor to Harry and back again. The tension in the room was palpable. "You're not torturing him, are you, Professor?" she asked. Her voice was light with humor, but she thought it was a legitimate question. She was fairly certain there was a good reason for Snape to be casting unfamiliar spells on his least favorite student, but she honestly couldn't be sure.

Snape smiled dryly at that. "Unfortunately, no," he drawled. Harry made a skeptical sound. "Are you here for any particular reason, Miss Weasley, or are you merely trying to interrupt a _private_ tutoring session?"

Ginny glanced at Harry, then held out the empty juice bottle. "I was hoping you could refill the Bulbadox juice," she explained.

"Ah," Snape said. He crossed to her and took the bottle, then retreated to one of the high glass cabinets behind his desk and retrieved the stock. "If you've finally figured out the Bulbadox, I suppose I can expect a submission that is not…wholly inadequate."

"Right," she replied shortly.

With a quick flick of his wand, he re-filled the bottle and re-stoppered it. He handed it back to her, then sank back behind his desk and pulled over a stack of papers. "Potter, that will be enough for today," he added, waving a dismissive hand. Harry didn't reply, just scowled in Snape's direction, shouldered his book bag, and followed Ginny out of the office.

They walked to the end of the corridor in silence, but as they rounded the corner, she turned to him, eyebrows raised. "So…_not_ remedial Potions tutoring then?"

He snorted. "Hardly." He paused, then met her eyes. "Have you ever heard of Occlumency?"

Ginny stopped short. She _had_ heard of it. In her first week home the summer after the Chamber, her mum had taken her, Ron, and the twins into Diagon Alley to run errands. She'd begged off, gone into Flourish and Blott's, and spent the whole afternoon sitting cross-legged in a back corner of the shop, reading everything she could find on possession – people who had been possessed in the past, characteristics that made people susceptible, defenses against it….

She'd come across Occlumency in several of the books. It had looked extremely complex, far out of her eleven-year-old self's reach.

"Yeah," she replied finally. "I have. Is Snape…?"

"Teaching me," Harry confirmed.

"Why?"

He hesitated. "Voldemort has a way of…getting inside my head."

Ginny cringed. She didn't really understand how that was possible, and Harry didn't elaborate. But if he needed Occlumency to defend against it, it couldn't be comfortable.

"It would probably be better if you didn't tell anyone," he added. "…about what Snape's _actually_ teaching me. Remedial potions is more embarrassing, but also less likely to raise questions."

"Right, of course," she murmured, her mind suddenly racing.

She didn't expect to ever be possessed again – she would never let herself be as careless as she'd been when she'd first written in the diary. But Occlumency could help her defend herself against Tom's intrusions. She thought with a shiver of that night at Malfoy Manor when he'd delved into her mind, sorting through her memories at will. She never wanted him in her head again.

"Do you think Snape would teach me too?" she asked.

Harry shot her a strange look. "Probably, but why would you need it?"

She went for the simplest explanation, the one that wouldn't require her to reveal that she'd _seen_ Tom, in the flesh, at the Malfoy's. "If I'd had it when I was eleven, I could have avoided a lot of trouble."

He laughed mirthlessly. "Trouble," he mused. "That's one way to put it." He smiled, then, "Yeah, I think he would, if you asked. It might be nice to have you around as a buffer against all the…?"

"Utter hatred?" she finished, grinning.

"Exactly."

"Well, glad to be useful, Potter," she teased.

His smile widened. "It'll be like Lupin's lessons all over again," he said. He paused thoughtfully. "That is, if Lupin was a humorless old git with an aversion to shampoo."

She laughed aloud at that. Almost without her realizing it, they'd started walking again, and now they came up to the Potions classroom.

"Well, this is my stop," she said.

"Right, your potion." He hesitated. "Do you want me to wait? We could eat together."

"No, it's all right," she replied. "I'm probably going to go for a fly afterward anyway."

She thought he looked a bit disappointed, but all he said was, "Okay. I'll see you later then."

And he headed off, leaving her alone. She crossed to her cauldron and raised the temperature once more, then measured out the right amount of Bulbadox from the full bottle and poured it in. She stirred the rapidly bubbling liquid distractedly, trying to decide just how she was going to convince Snape to let her join the Occlumency lessons.

* * *

><p><em>One week later<em>

"_Legilimens!_"

Her whole body stiffened against the sudden intrusion, but she knew immediately that Snape wasn't nearly as good a Legilimens as Tom. She could feel Professor Snape in her mind like a splinter – obvious and painful – and he seemed a bit clumsy, seeing memories as though he was looking through a dirty windowpane. But Tom…Tom had been precise, clean. If it hadn't been for the fact that her memories had flashed unbidden across her mind, she might not have even known he was there.

"Miss Weasley," Snape said suddenly, drawing her back to the present. His wand was lowered. She wondered if he had read her thoughts, but if he had, he didn't comment. Instead, he just said, "If you are not going to take this seriously and _try _to repel me, then I suggest you stop_ wasting my time_."

She shook herself. "Sorry. I'm ready now." She forced her mind blank and concentrated on emptying herself of all emotion.

"_Legilimens!_"

She focused as hard as she could – she really did, and she managed to hold him off for several long moments. But it was hard to focus on nothing, and when she thought of her nightmare from last night, the image of two crimson eyes, shrouded in black, flashed across her thoughts. And the jolt of fear and anger that coursed through her was all Snape needed.

She saw herself in the Chamber, followed swiftly by the Dementor on the Hogwarts Express, then Cedric dead on the ground, and she tried hard to rip herself away, but couldn't.

But as soon as it had begun, it was over. "Good," Snape said as she tried to catch her breath. He paused thoughtfully. "You did not make things easy for me at the beginning. Potter, Miss Weasley has been more successful on her first try than you have been in all of your incredibly…unfortunate attempts."

Harry opened his mouth to retort, and Ginny rolled her eyes. She had been here with them for all of fifteen minutes, and she already knew that Harry was incapable of letting an insult from Snape slide. "I want to try again," she said quickly, cutting him off.

Snape turned to her, and she thought she saw the _slightest_ of impressed – or was it amused? – smiles flit across his lips.

He raised his wand.

"_Legilimens!_"

* * *

><p>As soon as the door snapped shut behind them, Harry exhaled heavily. "Merlin, I hate those lessons," he sighed.<p>

"Well they're not exactly comfortable," she agreed.

"And that didn't exactly go…."

"Well." She snorted. "No, it didn't. Do you always have to bait him like that?"

"Like what?" he asked, eyes wide with feigned innocence.

She laughed. "Like 'There's no need to call me Sir, Professor.' Not that it wasn't hilarious, but I think he's clumsier at Legilimency when he's angry."

He grinned. "Great Hall?"

She nodded, and they started walking through the dungeons and toward the staircase.

"You're really good at Occlumency, actually," he said. "I'm useless at it."

"Do you think it's what Snape said?" she asked. "That you wear your emotions on your sleeve?"

"Probably." He smiled at her. "What's your secret?"

She smiled back, considering. "I dunno. I guess…you hear a lot of things in Slytherin. People say the word 'Mudblood' all the time, talk about blood purity…do cruel things. I suppose you get used to hiding how you feel about all that after a while."

He nodded slowly, thoughtfully.

She had a sudden idea. "Do you think we should practice more? Outside of lessons? I don't fancy being yelled at _every_ time."

"Really?" he replied, raising his eyebrows at her and grinning again. "You don't _enjoy_ Snape's constant taunting?" He looked over at her, and his eyebrows went up to his hairline. "You're serious, aren't you?"

"Of course I am," she said, warming to the idea with each passing moment. "We could use an empty classroom after lessons and practice on each other."

"But neither of us can do Legilimency."

"So we'll be crap at it at first," she replied, "and we'll have to be careful mucking around in each other's brains. But if we do some reading, I bet we can get good enough so that we really have to _try_ to repel each other. We're both so horrible at Occlumency – it shouldn't be too hard."

He thought for a moment more, and then his grin widened. "All right, Weasley, you're on."

* * *

><p><em>About two months later, early April<em>

Draco was lounging in the Common Room, half-reading his Charms textbook, when someone tapped him on the shoulder.

"What?"

The Second Year waiting at his elbow looked a bit frightened by his terse response, and just extended an envelope before scurrying away.

Draco flipped it over and saw his name written in pretty calligraphy on the front. He broke the seal and withdrew a sheet of pink-tinged parchment. Little cats danced across the top and bottom of the paper, and Draco rolled his eyes. He didn't need to be a genius to figure out who this was from.

_Dear Mr. Malfoy,_

_I hope this letter finds you well._

Draco could almost _hear_ the giggle that would have accompanied that statement.

_As you know, I have recently been appointed to the post of Headmistress by the direct order of Minister Fudge himself. Though I relish this opportunity, I fear that my new responsibilities will leave me little time to root out rule-breakers and dispense justice around the castle._

_I am therefore instituting a new group called the Inquisitorial Squad, which will be dedicated to discipline and to carrying out my orders, and I would like to invite you to become a member._

_The Squad will be composed of several well-adjusted students who have demonstrated their loyalty to the Ministry. Members will be granted all of the powers of regular Prefects, of which I quite obviously do not need to inform you, Mr. Malfoy, and they will also be given the ability to dock House points if the need should arise._

_I can only imagine how honored you must feel to have received this invitation. The Induction Ceremony will be held tomorrow in my office, five o'clock in the evening._

_Yours truly,_

_Headmistress and High Inquisitor Dolores Jane Umbridge_

Draco re-folded the letter slowly, ignoring the displeased hissing of several of the cats. _Inquisitorial Squad_. He rolled the words over a few times…it sounded a bit ridiculous, but he could understand Umbridge's motives. Everyone knew that Dumbledore had had to leave the school because Potter and his little minions had set up some kind of underground organization called Dumbledore's Army. No wonder Umbridge felt the need to bolster her authority.

"What the hell is this?" He looked up to see Ginny standing over him, a fierce expression on her face and an identical envelope held between her thumb and forefinger.

"I could be wrong, but it looks like a letter," he replied, smirking at her.

They hadn't seen each other as much as usual lately – the professors were going a bit insane with O.W.L. preparation, and she was spending every spare moment practicing Occlumency with Snape or Potter under the guise of helping Snape with his marking. Sometimes, her extra practice sessions with Potter went so late into the night, and she came up to his dormitory so exhausted, that Draco would've thought they were having some kind of torrid affair if she hadn't slapped him upside the head when he suggested it.

Now, she rolled her eyes and flopped down beside him, swinging her legs across his lap.

"Has she gone 'round the bend? _Inquisitorial Squad_? It sounds like a bad joke…or a _really _bad dance troupe."

He laughed aloud, glancing sidelong at her letter. "Are you going to do it?"

She looked surprised. "Are _you_?"

He thought for a moment, then nodded. "Why not? Might be fun. And anyway, I don't think she'd react well to a refusal."

She considered him for a long moment, suddenly serious. "Doesn't it seem a bit pointless to you?"

"What? The squad?"

"Well, yeah." She gestured vaguely. "And Umbridge in general."

His brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Well she's pointless for obvious reasons," she said, lowering her voice. "You know, because she's trying to protect us all from lies that aren't _actually_ lies."

"Right…." he agreed.

"But it also seems pointless – even counterproductive – from the _Ministry's_ perspective. Fudge is an idiot for putting her here. She's definitely not making the Ministry any friends among the students. Or their parents, for that matter."

"But it's not about making friends," Draco replied. "It's about show."

"Of what?"

"Power, genius. It's about Fudge showing – or pretending – he's still in charge. At the end of the day, it's all about show."

"Hm." She looked skeptical. "I suppose. I think you may be giving Fudge too much credit."

He laughed. "That's always a possibility."

"So you're going to do it?"

"Yeah," he confirmed. "And you should too." He nudged his knee against the underside of her leg. "You know, keep me in check."

"Oh, you two got them too, did you?" They looked up just as Blaise sank onto the sofa across from them. He held out his own envelope.

"Yeah, and I'm trying to convince Weasley to get on board."

Blaise gave Ginny a look of mock-pleading. "Come on, Weasley," he said. "We'll make a game of it. It'll be _fun_."

She grinned and rolled her eyes again. "You two are ridiculous," she said.

But the next night, the three of them stood next to Parkinson, Bulstrode, Crabbe, Goyle, and a couple others in the Headmistress's office. Umbridge was moving down the line, pinning a tiny silver "I" on each of their lapels.

Ginny was shooting incredulous looks at all of the flowery cat plates that adorned the walls – thirty of them at least – and Blaise was having trouble smothering his laughter. Draco shot them both a glare as Umbridge drew closer.

The Headmistress gave Draco what she obviously thought was a winning smile as she fastened the pin to his robes. Ginny was next, then Blaise, and a few moments later, Ginny leaned over to him and said in a low voice that lilted with humor, "Power corrupts, you know."

Draco smirked and whispered back, "Absolutely."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Thoughts? I am so grateful for the wonderful response this story has received and can't wait to hear more of your feedback! Please review!


	24. Of Beds and Burning Up

**Author's Note:** Just a reminder – this story is RATED M. This chapter contains sexual situations, so please don't read it if that makes you uncomfortable of if you're underage.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 24: Of Beds and Burning Up<br>**

It was nearly midnight on a Tuesday in late May, and Ginny found herself in an empty classroom on the third floor. Ever since Harry had accidentally broken into Snape's mind a few weeks ago, the professor had refused to give lessons to either of them, so they had spent nearly every night ensconced in deserted rooms, doing their best on their own.

Now, Ginny pointed her wand and met Harry's eyes. She raised her eyebrows a fraction, and he nodded.

She steeled herself. "_Legilimens!_"

There was resistance, stronger than last time but not as strong as the time before, and she concentrated on keeping up her attack. She clenched her fist around her wand and forced herself to focus – focus _hard_ – on breaking into his mind.

Slowly, she felt his self-control begin to slip, and now he was gripping the edge of the desk behind him so hard his knuckles were white.

And the next thing she knew, she was standing at the end of a long, dim hallway. She felt dizzy, everything seemed to be shifting around her, and suddenly, the end of the hallway began to barrel toward her, and she saw a closed door loom overhead.

She blinked, and suddenly the hallway was gone and she was back in the bright, empty classroom. Slowly, she lowered her wand back to her side, feeling disoriented. She always felt out of sorts after she saw one of Harry's memories. Across from her, Harry was rubbing his temples, brow furrowed.

She paced across the classroom, then sank down behind a desk, laying her forehead down on her arms. She exhaled heavily. "My head hurts," she murmured, staring down at the scratches and quill marks on the desk surface below. "A lot."

Harry snorted, and she heard him fall into the desk next to hers. "Mine too." He sounded just as exhausted as she felt.

They sat there in silence for several long moments, and then she heard him stand and shoulder his bag. "We should probably go," he said. "Wouldn't want the _Inquisitorial Squad_ to catch us."

She could hear the forced humor in his voice and decided to play along. "Your disdainful tone is hurtful, Potter," she said, flapping her lapel a bit so the silver "I" glinted in the lamplight.

He snorted as she gathered her things. They extinguished the lights and moved out of the classroom.

"Anyway," she continued lightly, "Bulstrode and Goyle are patrolling tonight, so I hardly think we need to worry."

That made him laugh.

"Plus," she added, "you're with me."

"Handy, that. You're like a walking hall pass."

He grinned sweetly as she slapped his arm. "Thanks a lot. I _meant_ that I know their route. Ever since the twins laid their swamp and left with a – well, with a bang – Umbridge has had us patrolling around her office non-stop. She's convinced someone's been breaking in." She paused and glanced at him sidelong, a smile playing at her lips. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, now would you?" she teased.

He met her eyes and his grin widened, but then he shook his head and carefully rearranged his features to cool surprise. "Someone _breaking in_? Why in the _world_ would they want to do that?"

Ginny thought of the ease with which Harry had broken them in before the Christmas holidays so they could use Umbridge's Floo. She grinned back. "Probably to steal her cat plates."

He guffawed. "Why didn't I think of that?"

"Seriously, though," she said, sobering. They rounded a corner and she lowered her voice. "I mean it when I say that she has us patrolling there all the time, usually in pairs or groups."

He nodded slowly.

"You're going to get caught eventually. Whatever you're using her fireplace for – wherever you're going or whoever you're contacting – it's not worth it."

His jaw set – he obviously didn't feel the same way – but he just nodded again. "Right, thanks," he whispered back.

She could tell he wanted to say more – probably something about how it was easy for her to say it wasn't worth it. _She_ could contact whoever she wanted, whenever she wanted, because Umbridge had a soft spot for her. And he was probably right. But she'd _seen_ Umbridge at Squad meetings. The woman got a maniacal gleam in her eyes when she talked about catching out whoever was breaking in. Ginny cringed. If Harry got caught, it was going to be ugly.

By now they had come up to the entrance to Gryffindor Tower, and they paused. She thought suddenly of the dim hallway that ended in the closed door and felt the urge to ask him about it before they parted ways for the night. "Harry?" she asked, turning her head to look at him.

He raised his eyebrows. "Ginny?"

"What was that last?"

She watched the line of his back stiffen. He knew what she meant.

Over the past few weeks, she'd seen plenty of his memories. Some of them she hadn't understood – she had no idea why she kept seeing images of a small, cramped room with a slanted ceiling. And others, like the one of a thin man unwinding his turban to reveal a red-eyed face beneath, had made her want to scream. But she'd never asked him about any of them before, and he'd never asked about any of hers. It was like an unspoken agreement between them.

But now she was asking. Somehow, the image of the hallway seemed different. It pulled her in more strongly than the others.

"We don't have to talk about it, if you don't want," she said quickly. "I was just curious."

"No, it's all right," he replied. He put a hand on the small of her back and drew her into a dark recess, away from the portrait hole. He shrugged. "It's a dream I've been having," he explained in a whisper. "A recurring dream."

She nodded. She knew all about those.

"It's where I dreamt about your dad getting bitten by Voldemort's snake."

Ginny froze. "What?" she whispered.

"That's how we found him. I dreamt about the hallway, and your dad was there, and I _was_ the snake. And I bit him."

"So that hallway's in the Department of Mysteries?"

"Yeah."

She didn't move as she processed that, her mind racing into overdrive. "So…," she said finally, "when you said that Tom has a way of…getting into your head…."

He nodded.

"Why? How is that possible?"

He paused, and he had just opened his mouth to reply when there was a loud sound from the portrait hole.

Ron emerged. "Harry?" He saw them and came over. "What are you two doing loitering out here?" he asked sternly. "I saw you on the ma –"

Harry shot him a look and he fell silent. Ginny's eyebrows went up, but she didn't push it.

"What are you doing out here?" Ron repeated. "You told Hermione you'd be back ages ago. She's gone up to bed by now, but she had a big fit about how you promised to help her with Charms revision."

Harry rolled his eyes, running a hand through his hair. "We've got to _do_ something about her, mate," he sighed. "She's going to give herself an ulcer or something."

"Hm," Ron said, not amused in the least. He glanced at Ginny, eyes narrowed. She took it as her cue to leave.

"Well, I better get back," she said. "See you tomorrow, Harry. Ron." She nodded to her brother as she moved away.

She'd only just barely turned the corner when Ron pounced. "Hermione and I both think you're being mental, Harry," she heard him whisper harshly.

"Merlin, Ron, we've been over this –"

"Why the _hell_ would you want her in your head every night of the week?" her brother demanded. "She's part of that bloody squad!"

"She thinks Umbridge is ridiculous, Ron," Harry replied. "She told me herself, and she's the only one who knows how to –"

Ron cut him off with something indignant-sounding, but Ginny wasn't listening anymore. She started back toward the dungeons, deep in thought about what Harry had told her about the hallway and her father and Tom. She was trying to figure out what it all meant. If Tom was planting images in Harry's brain, he was a more powerful Legilimens that she had ever imagined. But why would he want Harry to see her father being attacked? And if he hadn't wanted Harry to see, then how _had_ he?

The Slytherin Common Room was largely empty. There was a pair of Seventh Years asleep in one corner, but neither of them so much as moved as she made her way up the girls' staircase.

She deposited her bag beside her bed, changed into her pajamas, and drew her bed curtains before heading back downstairs and up the boys' staircase to the Fifth Year dormitory.

She drew her wand and tapped on the closed door in a particular configuration, and it swung open on silent hinges. She'd been getting back late at night quite often over the last few months, so Draco had charmed the door so she could get in when he was already asleep.

She crept inside and crossed to Draco's bed. She used his wand to cast the usual Silencing Charm, then slipped between his curtains and under the covers. She sighed at the warmth and curled against his body.

He cringed away. "_Fuck_, you're bloody freezing," he complained, his voice heavy with sleep.

"Shh, don't be a baby," she whispered back.

He let out a breathy laugh, and after a moment, she knew from his steady breathing that he had fallen back to sleep.

She smiled and closed her eyes.

* * *

><p><em>A week later<em>

"Eat up, girls," Montague said loudly, clapping Draco hard on the back as he passed. Laughing, he sank onto the bench farther down and began shoveling food onto his plate.

Draco scowled, and Blaise snorted. "He's a regular comedian, isn't he?"

"He's a regular something, all right," Draco grumbled, spearing a bit of egg with his fork.

"You ready?" Blaise asked casually, taking a swig of orange juice.

Draco shrugged. It was the Quidditch Finals today. He glanced sidelong at the Gryffindor table, where Johnson, their captain, was speaking vehemently to Potter. She was tracing frantic diagrams on her palm, and her eyes looked a bit wild. He would have found it hilarious…on any other day. "Ready as I'll ever be, I suppose," he replied, trying to sound nonchalant. He forced himself to chew his egg.

"Do you think I should ask Weasley to Hogsmeade?" Blaise asked suddenly.

He nearly spat out his mouthful. "_What_?"

Blaise's eyebrows went up, and he laughed, though Draco thought he heard a bit of an edge to it. "I'll take that as a no then, shall I?"

Draco coughed, recovering. "I just never thought you'd be contemplating taking a girl to Hogsmeade."

He shrugged. "I figure it worked for Ives."

Now, Draco laughed. "I wouldn't use Ives as a pattern for romantic success."

Blaise grinned. "Fair. What the hell would we do in Hogsmeade anyway?" he said, shaking his head like it had all been a joke and turning back to his plate.

Draco observed him, brow furrowed. Somehow, he felt that he ought to say something more.

But just then, Ginny sank down on the bench next to Blaise, looking frazzled. "Do you have _any_ idea how long it takes to get a turn in the loo in the morning in a girls' dormitory?" she complained, gathering her hair into a messy ponytail high on her head.

Blaise smirked, instantly as careless as ever. He looked down at himself, over to Draco, and back again. "Demonstrably, no."

"Fuck you," she laughed, pulling the plate of waffles toward herself. "How's your throwing arm, Zabini?" she asked lightly. "It's going to be a long morning."

"I don't know…." Draco replied, glancing over his shoulder. "Your brother looks like he's swallowed a slug. It might be a shorter morning than you think."

Ginny snorted.

There was the usual flap of wings above as the owls flew in with the morning post. Draco skimmed the headline – some fluff piece about how much safer everyone was under the new Ministry decrees on werewolves – and flipped to the next page. His brows went up to his hairline.

He turned the paper in Blaise's direction and pointed at the article. "Weren't even going to mention it this time?"

Blaise glanced over. "Oh, right, I meant to ask if you two could come tomorrow."

"Mm, to what?" Ginny asked, setting down her juice glass.

"Number seven kicked the bucket last night," he replied nonchalantly.

"He _what_?" she exclaimed. "Number seven as in _stepfather_ number seven?"

"The very one." He set down his fork and stretched his arms lazily over his head. "Funerals tomorrow at my place. Umbridge has already given permission for me and anyone else I want to be there."

"What the _hell_, Zabini?" Ginny said. "You let me carry on about loos and Quidditch? Are you all right?"

"Of course," he replied. Her question seemed to genuinely confuse him.

"I wouldn't worry," Draco put in. "He was like this with the last six, too."

Ginny looked surprised, and she kept her eyes trained on Blaise – who just looked back, eyebrows slightly raised – for a moment more, as if she was expecting him to burst into tears or something. But then she shook her head amusedly and leaned forward on her elbows. "How'd he die?" she asked.

"Apparently…," Draco trailed his finger down the article. "There. Fell down the stairs."

"Right…," she said slowly. He could see the cogs turning in her head, and he rolled his eyes. It was common knowledge that Blaise's stepfathers all died in "accidents," leaving Blaise's mum conveniently single and millions of Galleons richer. It didn't take a genius to put two and two together, although there seemed to be no shortage of men lining up to be Aradia's next husband. Beauty did strange things to men, he supposed.

"Well," Blaise said, grinning widely and standing, "we better get out there. _Girls_."

"Good Montague impression," Ginny laughed, getting up.

Zabini slung his arm around Ginny's shoulders, and Draco fell into step beside them as they all strode out to the pitch.

* * *

><p>"Malfoy, if you don't get the fucking Snitch caught right now, I swear to Merlin –"<p>

"Oh, fuck off, Montague!" Draco snapped, glaring across the pitch.

"Team tension, Malfoy?" Potter asked lightly from several feet above him.

Draco had the sudden urge to punch the smirking git right off his broom, but he resisted. He knew Scarface was just trying to distract him. Slytherin was 160 points up, so if he could just catch the Snitch now – or force Potter to – the match would end, and they would be enough ahead to win both the match and the Cup.

So instead of resorting to physical measures, he forced himself to look pointedly over at the Gryffindor goal posts, where Weasley had just scored – yet again. "I don't think now's really the time for smug observations, Potter," he sneered.

Ginny rose from the Gryffindor hoops. "Play nice, kids," she said, flashing a grin as she looped around them and back down to the action. Draco rolled his eyes, trying to push down the smile that twitched at the corners of his lips. Easy for her to say…Githead and his shite goalkeeping was making her job easy.

Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Potter stiffen. He whipped around just as Scarface turned away, trying to look nonchalant, and he saw it – the glimmer of gold hovering just behind Katie Bell's ear. He dove.

Potter swore behind him and followed, and Draco knew almost immediately that it was going to be close. Loathe as he was to admit it, Potter was a better flier – faster, slightly better reflexes. Draco's only shot was to see the Snitch first, and he hadn't.

But this time, Potter didn't _want_ the Snitch to be caught, so maybe that was an advantage.

Potter caught up to him halfway across the pitch and swerved right in front of him, trying to throw him off course and give the Snitch enough time to flit away. Draco forced himself to keep his eyes on the gold glimmer. Fifteen more feet…ten…eight…Bell realized what was happening and dove out of the way…five…he reached out his hand….

"Damnit!" Potter cursed loudly. He jerked his broom left, tried to push his arm between Draco and the prize in one last desperate attempt to keep the match from ending….

Draco's fingers closed, and he felt the smooth surface of the Snitch against his palm.

His face broke into a wide grin, and the Slytherin stands exploded into cheers.

* * *

><p>The music started up, and it was so loud that it echoed up the staircase and straight into the dormitory. Blaise laughed. "I guess the party's starting, then," he observed.<p>

Draco, who was lying flat on his back and staring up at his canopy, grinned. "Seems so. Pass me a shirt, will you?"

"Which one? White, black, navy?"

He considered. "Dark gray."

"Aw, but you look so stunning in black," Blaise complained, voice rising and falling with mock disappointment. He pouted.

"Fuck off," Draco replied, laughing. He caught the gray button-down in mid-air and shrugged into it.

By now, loud laughter and chattering were filtering up from below, and they descended the staircase to the party.

They settled next to Crabbe and Goyle on their usual set of sofas, and a moment later Marcia, Pansy, and Daphne wound their way over, drinks in hand. They passed the bottles around, falling into easy conversation.

Ginny descended the girls' staircase with the Carrow twins a moment later. Bridget Avery waved her over, and she turned to give Draco a cheeky wink as she wandered to where the other students from her year had formed a wide circle. He grinned back easily, but his eyes followed her over the lip of his bottle as she sank down, laughing at something one of the boys had just said.

She'd changed into a pair of tight denim shorts and a white tank top, and he felt that familiar jolt at the base of his stomach. He loved her in that tank top.

* * *

><p>"He's been staring at you all night, you know," Rachel murmured, leaning close to be heard over the pounding music. At some point, someone had turned the volume up even higher. In the corner, a group of Seventh Year boys was playing a raucous drinking game, and there were more than a few couples snogging against walls or in dark recesses.<p>

Ginny leaned back against the side of the sofa and took the last sip of her Firewhiskey. She reached up to set it on the coffee table. She'd had several drinks by now – everything was buzzing around the edges, and she felt warm. "Who?" she asked.

"Malfoy," Rachel replied.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Apparently he keeps tabs on me. He's always staring."

"Staring like _that_?" Bridget asked, sounding rather incredulous.

"Like what?"

Hestia laughed. "Like he wants to fuck you," she said.

"Not to put too fine a point on it," Flora added with a snort.

Ginny's eyebrows went up to her hairline, and she glanced up to meet Draco's eyes across the room. She turned back and shot them all a sardonic look. "That's nothing," she said dryly. "He looks at me like that all the time."

Bridget whistled lowly. "Well _that_ doesn't bode well for your platonic friendship, does it?"

"Not platonic to begin with," Rachel said under her breath, and they all laughed. Ginny rolled her eyes. Her roommates didn't know the half of it. They'd heard about the kiss at the Yule, seen the two of them entangled on the sofas, laughing or doing homework, observed the way his palm found the small of her back as they walked. But they had no idea where she slept, and they certainly didn't know about the night over the summer when they'd snogged on his bed in an unmistakably _non_-platonic way.

She felt her body heat at the memory…the alcohol, surely…and shook her head. No, the other girls in her dormitory didn't know about her and Draco at all. She supposed theirs didn't work like other friendships.

"You're all terrible." She rolled her eyes again as the laughter subsided and pushed herself up. "Well, I'm going over," she said lightly.

She made her way to the drinks table first, grabbed another bottle of whiskey, and popped the cap as she crossed the room. She clinked her glass against Blaise's. "We are most definitely the dream team," she said, grinning.

He laughed. "And we have the points to prove it."

"No recognition whatsoever?" Draco asked crossly.

"Oh, right." She sighed. "Nice catch, I suppose."

He laughed aloud, and her grin widened as she sank onto the sofa beside him. She folded her legs up beneath her and sipped her drink. The rest of the group fell back into conversation, and after a moment, she leaned over to Draco and whispered, "Seems a bit perverse to be celebrating, doesn't it? With Blaise's stepdad's funeral tomorrow."

"Hardly," he replied. "Look at him."

He was right. _Blaise_ didn't seem to think it was perverse at all. He'd just said something that had Crabbe laughing uproariously, and he was grinning from ear to ear.

"Mm, I guess you're right," she mused.

They talked and laughed for a few more hours until the party began to die down. Marcia headed upstairs, followed by Pansy and Daphne and then by Crabbe and Goyle, leaving her with Draco and Blaise. Someone turned the music down to a low background hum, voices quieted, the lamps dimmed.

Ginny's body was leaning against Draco's chest, and his right forefinger was running in lazy, distracted circles around her elbow. Through the comfortable haze of the alcohol, she thought that she liked it better this way, when it was just the three of them. It was easier. She didn't have to be on her guard, with comebacks right at the edge of her tongue.

Blaise said something off-hand about Marcia, and Ginny snorted, feeling Draco's chest vibrate with laughter against her cheek. They chatted lightly for a while longer, until Ginny began to feel a heavy sort of sleepiness. She yawned.

She listened to the low murmur of Draco and Blaise's voices for several more minutes, her eyes sliding slowly shut.

* * *

><p>She woke gradually, groggily. Everything was still blurred, still hazy, so she knew it had only been an hour at most, and she was still drunk.<p>

It was dark – the lamps had gone out, and though she could still hear it struggling in the grate, their fire was nearly dead.

She moved and felt Draco's knee knock against hers. She vaguely processed that she was outstretched along the inner half of the sofa, squeezed between his body and the sofa-back. She twisted her neck slightly, saw that he was turned toward her, made out the outline of the button on his shirt collar.

She could feel her toes brushing against the base of the armrest. He was breathing softly…in, out, in, out…each breath rustling lightly over the top of her head.

She shifted, turning her body to face his, to give herself more room, and he adjusted, still asleep, and tangled their legs together.

His thigh nudged between her own.

She inhaled sharply.

_Staring like _that_?_

The words flashed unbidden across her mind.

_Not platonic to begin with._

_They didn't know the half of it._

And maybe it was Bridget and Rachel and Hestia and Flora.

Or maybe it was the drunkenness, or the warmth of his body, or the feel of his thigh, or all of those things at once.

But through the haze and the dark she felt herself lean forward and press her lips just above the open button on his shirt and against his bare skin.

She pulled back, waiting for the scream of caution.

But there was none.

She pressed another kiss to his neck, a little higher. And another, a little to the right.

She felt him come awake beneath her lips. His chest began to rise and fall more rapidly, and she knew he had realized what she was doing. She paused. She could hear herself breathing hard against his skin.

She waited, but he didn't say anything, and after another long, taut moment, she kissed his neck again. He exhaled, and she realized he'd been holding his breath.

She drew away slowly and looked up. His eyes were open, though heavily lidded, and in the dimly flickering firelight, they looked very dark gray.

They stared at each other.

And then, in one swift movement, he bent his head and his lips found hers.

It wasn't careful or gentle or soft.

It was fierce, and the fierceness of it surprised her, but only for a moment. Then it seemed to set her on fire. Everything heated, the haziness at the edges of her vision intensified.

His left hand gripped her hip hard, dragging her as close against him as the sofa allowed, and when she gasped, his tongue pressed into her mouth, and she tasted the Firewhiskey on it and the mint that was always there beneath.

His palm began to run hard lines up and down her thigh, dipping beneath the bottom edges of her shorts, then drawing back, and her own hands began to push frantically at the base of his un-tucked shirt. She was suddenly desperate to feel his skin beneath her fingertips.

Merlin, what was happening to her?

It took all the willpower she possessed to tear her lips from his and meet his gaze. She now realized why his eyes were so dark. Lust. "Bed," she managed to say, and he nodded.

He disentangled their limbs, stood, and grabbed her hand to pull her past a slumbering Blaise and toward the boys' staircase.

He stopped on the first floor landing and pushed her shoulders back against the wall to kiss her again. She grinned against his lips. "Told you that tongue was going to get you in trouble someday," she whispered.

He laughed throatily. "I think this is the kind of trouble I can deal with," he replied.

She had no idea how they made it up to the Fifth Years' dormitory, nor how he had the presence of mind to draw the curtains and cast the Silencing Charm, but before she knew it she was lying on his bed and he was balanced on an elbow above her, his other hand pushing her tank top higher and higher on her stomach.

He pulled the shirt over her head and tossed it to one side, and as his hand began to run up and down her bare side, she reached up to fumble at the buttons of his shirt. He buried his lips in the crook of her neck, his breath catching slightly each time her fingers brushed against his chest, moving lower and lower. Finally, the buttons were done, and he shifted to catch her lips again as she shoved the fabric off his shoulders.

He disentangled himself, and she reveled in the feeling of his skin against hers.

But she wanted more.

So she reached out to pull his hips down to hers. Hard.

"_Merlin_, Ginny," he groaned, bucking involuntarily against her.

She gasped.

He ground down again, and this time, she moaned.

Her palms pressed flat against his back, and she began to trace long lines, then wide circles against his skin as he moved against her. She concentrated on her own movements – up, down, back again – as if they were an anchor, keeping her tethered to the bed beneath her. She felt she might fly out of her body. She felt she might explode.

Her hands found the small of his back, where his pants met his skin, and she trailed them forward and around him until her fingertips were dancing along the edge of his waistband. He froze as she began to undo his belt buckle, and he leaned his forehead against hers as her fingers dipped lower, beneath the fabric of his pants and boxers.

"Ginny…." he murmured.

Her hand dipped lower and lower and _lower_ until finally she could feel him, hot and impossibly hard against her palm.

He groaned deep in his throat, and this time she felt the sound go straight through her.

She wrapped her hand around him and he groaned again, his lips crashing into hers once more.

* * *

><p>Draco woke the next morning with a headache pulsing at the base of his skull. He rubbed his eyes and exhaled. And froze as he realized that last night had <em>not<em> been another one of his dreams.

He turned his head slowly and surveyed Ginny, who was facing him, still sound asleep. The blankets were thrown off the top half of her body, her chest rising and falling gently beneath her white bra – he knew her shirt was balled up somewhere in the chaos of the mussed-up bedclothes.

He ran his hands roughly over his face, pushing himself upright against the head of the bed. He saw his shirt crumpled at the base of the mattress, and his belt buckle and the top button of his pants were undone, the zipper down. He shut his eyes, a jolt of pleasure racing through him as he remembered how her hands had felt on his skin.

He'd shown her how to touch him, and he'd finished hard, groaning Merlin-knows-what against her skin as waves of ecstasy rocked through his body.

Bloody hell.

They'd used their wands to clean up, laughed a little, fallen to sleep.

Oh, bloody, bloody, buggering hell.

This was going to complicate things.

A loud voice penetrated his thoughts, coming closer. "– know we had a late night last night, but you would think you'd at _least_ be ready on time for my stepdad's funeral, you wanker," Blaise said, his voice threaded with laughter.

The curtains shifted as Blaise grabbed them on the other side, and Draco didn't have any time to move before they were pulled back with the harsh scrape of metal on metal. "Because –"

Blaise stopped short, taking in the image of his two best friends in bed together. His eyes, wide with shock, darted from Ginny to her bra to the mussed blankets to the crumpled clothing.

And finally, to Draco.

Several emotions flashed across his face, two of which Draco hadn't seen there in years:

Anger.

And hurt.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Sorry for the long wait! I've started working on my senior thesis, so unfortunately updates will be slightly less frequent going forward. But I will try my best.

On another note, please, please review! Traffic stats suggest that there are a lot of you reading this, but only a fraction ever bother to review. I put a lot of time and energy into writing, and feedback means a lot. So yes, back to my usual request: please review and make me happy :)


	25. The Rift

**Author's Note:** Wow! I am blown away by the response to the last chapter! Thanks to all of you who took the time to review. I truly, truly appreciate it.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 25: The Rift<strong>

Draco pushed himself out of bed, grabbing his shirt from the base of the mattress as he went. He drew the curtains behind him, and the metal-on-metal made another harsh scraping sound. He winced, squinting against the bright light coming in from the window. Of course he had a bloody hangover.

"Zabini, I –" he began. He glanced sidelong at Crabbe, Goyle, and Nott's drawn bed curtains, and grabbed Blaise by the shoulder, pulling him out of the room and down the stairs. _He_ hadn't even had time to process what had happened last night. The last thing he needed was for his and Ginny's drunken escapades to be advertised all over the castle before they had a chance to talk about it. Merlin, they'd done something so incredibly _stupid_. But it had been –

It hadn't felt stupid. Though that might have been the Firewhiskey talking.

After last night's revelries, the Common Room was empty, and they halted at the base of the staircase. When he met Blaise's eyes again, they had hardened to flints. He cringed, feeling a sharp jolt of guilt in his chest.

"Did you two fuck last night?" Blaise asked suddenly, his voice harsh and accusing.

His eyebrows went up, and he felt his heckles rise immediately at Blaise's tone. True, he'd been impulsive and thoughtless last night. But it wasn't as if Blaise actually had any _claim_ over Weasley. He'd had a chance years ago, and he'd used it to get into Samantha Vaisey's knickers, Draco thought unkindly.

"No, we didn't," he replied testily. "And Merlin, Zabini, you don't have to be so bloody crass."

"When am I ever _not_ crass, Malfoy?" Blaise near-yelled. Draco's eyes widened in surprise. Blaise rarely yelled. And suddenly, he felt all the indignation rush out of him. Oh Merlin, he'd really screwed up, he realized. Blaise had really, truly _liked_ her, hadn't he?

He thought of breakfast yesterday morning, and of Blaise asking if he should take Ginny to Hogsmeade. He cringed again, and this time, the guilt raced down to the ends of his fingertips. Just then, his head throbbed, and he set his jaw, running a hand roughly across the back of his neck. Merlin, he couldn't fucking deal with this right now.

Blaise seemed to realize how loud he'd been. He exhaled, obviously trying to recover himself. "If there was something going on between you two," he continued after a moment, his voice quieter but his eyes still blazing, "why didn't you just tell me?"

"I didn't realize you would react this –"

He barked out a laugh. "Oh, so my going on and on about how much I fancy her didn't sink in, then?" he demanded.

"Zabini, I'm –"

But Blaise kept talking over him, his voice rising again with each word. "Thought you'd just let me make a fool of myself, telling you how I wanted to ask her on a proper date and how I wanted to –"

"Zabini –"

"– off myself for being such a sap about the whole thing? None of that sank in? None of it?"

"Zabini, will you just –"

"I actually fancy her, Malfoy – _actually fancy her_. So you could have at least done me a favor and _told me_ that you were fucking her when I –"

"For fuck's sake, Zabini!" Draco snapped finally, his voice loud and harsh with frustration. "There is nothing going on between me and Weasley. We just got drunk, and she, you know," – he gestured wildly – "got me off."

That silenced him, and after a pause, Draco said, "That's it, all right?"

Blaise's lips set in a hard line. He was breathing hard, and his fists were clenched at his sides, and he opened his mouth to respond, but –

Suddenly, Ginny pushed between them and out into the Common Room. Draco was stunned for a moment – he hadn't even heard her on the stairs. Her hair was a crazy copper mess around her shoulders, but her tank top was back on and she was holding her shoes in her left hand. Draco thought for a brief second that she was going to cross straight to the girls' staircase without acknowledging them – maybe from shame or embarrassment, though that didn't seem like her – but then she turned and looked straight at Zabini.

Her cheeks were pink, but her eyes were dark and hard, worlds away from their usual bright brown. His brow furrowed.

"Do we use Umbridge's Floo to get to your house?" she asked.

Whatever he had expected her to say, that was not it, and Blaise was obviously taken aback as well. "Yeah," he replied slowly.

"I have to get changed, so you better go on ahead," she said. "I'll meet you at the funeral, all right?"

She didn't wait for an answer, just turned and disappeared up the stairs.

Draco realized that she hadn't looked at him once.

* * *

><p>Ginny threw her shoes bodily into her trunk and strode straight into the loo, shutting the door hard behind her. Her right hand was clenched into a tight white circle, and when she unfolded it, she saw that her fingernails had dug little half-moon crescents into her palm.<p>

Suddenly, she was breathing hard, and she felt a harsh anger burning up her throat, threatening to choke her. She cast a quick Silencing Charm at the door, then slammed her wand down on the countertop and let out a frustrated sound.

How _dare _he?

She'd woken that morning to the scrape of Draco's curtain rings, and her first thought had been that he had fled. Typical, Malfoy, she'd thought, smiling wryly to herself. He was probably in the loo right now, pacing back and forth and working himself into a fit about what it all _meant_.

She reached for her tank top, thinking. She wasn't sure what it meant either.

But she wasn't going to let him get away with a tragic little speech about how it had all been a mistake, she realized. It surprised her how sure she was of _that_. She wasn't going to let him tell her that last night had been a non-platonic _slip-up_ between two completely platonic best friends, as if they'd tripped and ended up with their tongues in each other's mouths and their hands _everywhere_. Fuck it, she thought. Her roommates might not have them completely pinned down, but at the end of the day, this had been anything _but_ a slip-up. She'd _wanted_ him last night, and he'd wanted her back; they were attracted to each other, and that had made last night damn near inevitable.

She didn't know what that meant. But they weren't going to be able to pretend _platonic_ was enough anymore, she realized. Not after last night.

And why should they? Why should they pretend anything? They could snog or shag or _date_ or whatever the hell they wanted, couldn't they?

And just as that thought had crossed her mind, she'd heard his voice. "Zabini, I –" She'd frozen, her fingers closed around the ribbed base of her tank top. _Blaise_ was out there? Had he caught them?

She'd strained her ears to hear. They'd moved away from the bed and out of the dormitory, and her brow had furrowed. If Blaise _had_ caught them, she'd have expected him to be leaning against the bedpost, making vulgar comments and smirking.

She'd pulled on her top, then she'd checked that the coast was clear and gotten out of bed. It had taken a moment to find her shoes, but then she'd followed them downstairs, and their voices had become louder with each passing step.

"– didn't you just tell me?" That had been Blaise, and he'd sounded angry, though she couldn't for the life her figure out what he had to be angry about.

She hadn't been able to hear Draco's response, and she'd moved farther down the stairs, instinctively keeping her footsteps quiet against the carpet. "– on about how much I fancy her didn't sink in, then?" She'd nearly tripped in her surprise. Blaise _fancied_ her? Still? She'd thought that had been a passing thing, a month-long blip in his long string of women. The way it always was when Blaise "fancied" someone.

"– just let me make a fool of myself, telling you how I wanted to ask her on a proper date and how I wanted to –"

"Zabini, will you just –" Draco had sounded annoyed.

"I actually fancy her, Malfoy – _actually fancy her_. So you could have at least done me a favor and _told me_ that you were fucking her when I –"

"For fuck's sake, Zabini!" Draco had said suddenly and loudly, irritation obvious in his voice. "There is nothing going on between me and Weasley. We just got drunk, and she, you know, got me off."

Now, Ginny clenched her fingers hard around the edge of the loo's marble countertop, anger rising again at the memory. Whatever she'd thought Draco would feel about last night, she hadn't imagined he'd be so…so…so _dismissive_.

She, you know, _got me off_?

As if she was just some random girl he'd picked up at a pub or a bar and gotten off with one time to show he could. As if they weren't _best friends_. As if it didn't have any significance at all. As if he didn't at least owe her the ounce of respect it would've taken to say –

She'd pushed past them down the stairs, then remembered that the funeral was this morning and had asked Blaise not to wait for her.

And now, here she was, fuming in the Fourth Year girls' loo, wishing with every bone in her body that she'd slapped Draco across the face.

She shook her head disgustedly and turned on the shower.

She stood there under the burning hot spray for longer than usual. Twenty minutes later, she emerged, pulled on her black dress – the same one she'd worn to Cedric's funeral, she realized grimly – and drew her hair into a tight bun at the base of her skull. She surveyed herself in the mirror, then left the dormitory.

A few early risers had come into the Common Room by now, but Draco and Blaise were no where to be seen. They'd probably already gotten to Blaise's manor by now. Good, she thought. Somewhere in the course of her shower, the burning anger had settled into a cold, hard ball at the base of her stomach. It was easier to deal with this way, and she embraced it.

She used Umbridge's grate to Floo to the funeral. She fully intended to stand near the back, but Blaise caught sight of her as she arrived and raised a hand to beckon her over, so she had no choice but to join him and Draco at the front. And anyway, none of this was Blaise's fault. And if what he'd said was true, he fancied her. She wished she'd known before. Maybe then she and Draco wouldn't have made such a –

She laughed dryly. A _mistake_.

It had been one after all.

An hour later, another one of Blaise's stepdad's business associates stood to take the podium and continued speaking where the last had left off. From beside her, Draco reached over and nudged her arm, trying to get her attention. She jerked away, and out of the corner of her eye, saw him raise his eyebrows sharply in surprise.

Later, as they lowered the coffin into the ground, she knew he was trying to catch her eye.

She turned deliberately away.

And maybe she was being spiteful, but the look on his face a moment later was immensely satisfying.

* * *

><p>They descended the stairs to the dungeons in complete silence, the tension palpable. Blaise had a somber look on his face, his lips set in a hard line, and anyone else might have concluded it was because they were coming back from his stepdad's funeral. But Draco knew better. He was still angry, and Draco wondered how long that would last.<p>

Ginny's expression, by contrast, was totally neutral, but her eyes were still hard, and when they reached the bottom of the staircase she quickened her step so she was a few paces in front of him, as if she was trying to put as much space between them as possible. He felt a jolt of annoyance. What the hell was wrong with her? he thought irritably. She'd been like that all through the funeral – refusing to even look at him, keeping her features set to carefully-constructed blankness.

"Thanks for coming," Blaise said vaguely, stepping through the wall and into the Common Room passageway. Ginny moved to follow, but Draco wasn't going to let her get away with that.

He grabbed her arm to hold her back, felt another flash of irritation when she jerked away. "What are you playing at, Gin?" he asked sharply.

Despite her harsh movements, she just raised her eyebrows lightly. "Hm?" she asked unconcernedly.

That annoyed him even more, and he felt anger begin to bubble in his chest. Why was she acting like this? "Are we not going to talk about last night?"

"What's to talk about?" she asked, just as lightly as before.

He made an incredulous sound. There was _no way_ she didn't remember. She was playing some kind of game, and he was already fucking tired of it. He already had Blaise and his own damn guilt to deal with. He didn't need this too, whatever it was. "Why are you being like this? You were there. We snogged last night. Among other things."

"Oh, is _that_ what happened?" she asked, and now he knew he'd broken through the veneer, because her voice was laced with something vicious. Good. At least now she could tell him what the fuck was wrong with her. "Because," she continued, "_I_ was under the impression that we just got drunk and I, you know, got you off."

That silenced him. He recognized his own words, and realized she'd heard what he'd said earlier, to Blaise. His first instinct was the apologize, to tell her he hadn't meant to sound so…careless about the whole thing. He'd just been frustrated with Blaise, and it had slipped out –

But _no_, he thought harshly, grinding the apology to a halt. Why _should_ he apologize? He'd already done his fair share of apologizing to Blaise this morning, and he hadn't said anything that wasn't true. They _had_ gotten drunk, and she _had_ gotten him off. If she hadn't wanted him to tell it like it was, she shouldn't have done any of it in the first place, should she?

"Yeah, you're right, that's _exactly_ what happened," he said, his voice an ugly mixture of spite and self-righteousness.

She held his gaze for a long moment, hard brown on icy gray, and he just arched an eyebrow, half-expecting her to fly into a screaming rage. But that wasn't his Ginny, and he ought to have known that. When she was really, truly angry, she –

She let out a cold, mirthless laugh, and he cringed inwardly, though he kept his expression carefully unaffected. "Good," she said, "then there's nothing to talk about, is there?"

She turned to enter the Common Room, but at the last second she whirled back to him, and said in a voice dripping with controlled fury, "You did a shite thing to Blaise. You should have told me he still fancied me."

"It's not my job to run his love life for him," he replied cruelly.

She didn't answer, just shook her head and disappeared through the wall.

Alone in the corridor, he found himself wishing she _had_ flown into a rage. A screaming match would have left him feeling less empty.

He shook himself. She was being irrational, and he was right this time. Maybe once she came to her fucking senses and stopped being so dramatic, they could have a civil conversation.

* * *

><p><em>Two and a half weeks later<em>

"Don't you have Inquisitorial duty in…two minutes?" Flora said, nodding toward the clock.

Ginny followed her gaze and sighed, snapping her book on Quidditch plays shut and depositing it in her bag. "Yeah," she replied, checking to make sure the silver "I" was secured to her lapel.

"Isn't this the third time this week?" Rachel asked.

"Yeah, you _have_ been going an awful lot lately," Bridget observed, looking up from where she was doodling on the inside cover of one of her notebooks. Term was nearly over, and hardly anyone was working anymore. Except the Inquisitorial Squad, Ginny thought wryly, standing and pocketing her wand.

"You know," Bridget continued, grinning cheekily, "if you're having a secret fling or something, you can tell us."

"Especially if it solves the mystery of you and the Sex Gods," Rachel put in.

Ginny snorted. By now, the fact that she, Blaise, and Draco had had some kind of falling out was common knowledge, and the source of much speculation. The absence of the trio from their usual set of sofas and the way they hardly spoke had sparked all kinds of rumors, none of which had gotten the slightest hint of confirmation or denial from any of them.

Ginny had taken to spending her free time with her roommates, which only fueled the gossip, but she didn't care. She couldn't get Draco's cold comments out of her head, and her pride wouldn't let her forgive him. She knew it was unfair to distance herself from Blaise, but he and Draco always seemed to be together, even if they sat tight-lipped and silent, so there wasn't much she could do about that.

"It has nothing to do with Zabini _or _Malfoy, trust me," she replied finally. "Umbridge is just convinced that the end of term is the most popular time of year for rule-breaking."

"Probably true," Hestia said. "Did you hear what those Hufflepuff Fifth Years did to the Prefect's bathroom on the second floor after their last O.W.L.?"

Ginny didn't wait to find out what prank they'd pulled. She took the stairs up to her dormitory two at a time and tossed her bag in the direction of her bed, then headed back down and out into the dungeons.

She glanced at her watch as she passed the Great Hall. Damn, she was going to be late, and she wasn't in the mood for Parkinson's sneering comments right now.

"Nice of you to join us, Weasley," Pansy said, true to form, when she arrived at their usual meeting place. Crabbe and Goyle were standing off to one side, Bulstrode was pulling her hair back into a high ponytail a few steps away, and Draco and Blaise were leaning against the wall behind.

"Well," Ginny said testily, looking pointedly away from Malfoy, "I'm here now."

The seven of them started through the halls, taking their usual patrol route. Crabbe and Goyle started arguing almost immediately about an engraved Beater's bat that had gone missing during end-of-year packing. They traded clumsy insults for about fifteen minutes, and then Crabbe punched Goyle's arm and Goyle raised his fist to retaliate.

"Will you two stop acting like five-year-olds? _Merlin_," Draco snapped. He fixed them with a steely glare.

Crabbe grumbled something under his breath, but they fell silent, and after that, no one spoke.

They caught a pair of Hufflepuffs snogging in one of the broom cupboards and a group of giggling First Year Ravenclaws who looked like they were trying to light a painting on fire. Blaise, who seemed to be in as bad a mood as Draco, took a ruthless number of points.

"Merlin, the three of you are in a foul moods, aren't you?" Pansy observed as they rounded the corner into the hall that took them past Umbridge's office. "Whatever happened to break up your little dream team is making this patrol very uncomfortable," she added, her tone suggesting that she actually found the whole situation highly entertaining. "You know," she continued, "you really ought to put the rumors to rest. Some of them are _not_ flattering." She paused, considering, then turned to Ginny. "Particularly to you, Weasley. Just yesterday I heard a Third Year saying that you and Zabini had a –"

She stopped short, turning in the direction of Umbridge's office. They'd all heard it, and they came to a halt in the middle of the corridor: the murmur of a male voice filtering out from beneath Umbridge's office door, quickly muffled by frantic hushes.

Ginny knew immediately that it was Harry. Who else would be stupid and reckless enough to pull something like this? Which of course meant Ron and Hermione were in there with him. _Damnit, Harry!_ She'd told him they patrolled this area constantly!

"Goyle," Pansy was saying, voice low and unabashedly gleeful. Her fingers were already curling around her wand. "Go get Umbridge. We'll wait for you here. And hurry."

Goyle grinned broadly and turned on his heel.

"Wait!" Ginny had spoken before she'd had time to think about it. Pansy arched an eyebrow slowly. "Something you want to say, Weasley?" she challenged, eyes gleaming, just _daring_ her to reply.

She exhaled, mind racing. She couldn't think of a convincing reason _not_ to get Umbridge. Students had obviously broken into the office, and she couldn't very well say that she didn't want _Harry Potter_ to get in trouble. If anything, that would spur the rest of them on. Finally, she shook her head, her fingers clenching into tight fists at her sides.

"That's what I thought," Pansy said superiorly, and Goyle took off down the corridor. "Millicent and Zabini," she whispered, "go check around that corner." She nodded toward the other end of the hall. "I bet they have a lookout."

Umbridge arrived in no time. She rounded the corner into the corridor, her stubby legs working double-time, with her wand already held aloft and her lips broken in a frighteningly wide grin. She giggled softly as she came up to them. "Shall we?" she simpered, and then she aimed her wand at the door and blasted it open.

It was even worse than Ginny had expected.

Harry jerked upright as the door slammed back against the wall – he'd obviously been bent over the fireplace, talking to someone via Floo. Ron and Hermione were standing a foot away from him, and just as Umbridge yelled "_Expelliarmus!_" and grabbed their wands triumphantly from the air, Bulstrode and Blaise rejoined the group, pushing Neville and Luna before them at wandpoint.

"Well, well, well," Umbridge crowed, "what have we here?" She moved around the room to stand behind her desk, slapping her wand rhythmically against her palm and smiling even more widely than before. She looked from Harry to Ron to Hermione to Neville to Luna and back again. She moistened her lips with her tongue, like a wolf considering its prey, and Ginny cringed, thinking of the scars on the back of Harry's right hand – _I must not tell lies_. If that's what Umbridge doled out at detention, who knew what she was planning to do to them now….

She met Harry's eyes for a brief second. His expression was guarded, but she thought she could read _something_ in it…. Disappointment?

"_So_, Mr. Potter," Umbridge said suddenly, and his gaze flicked away.

"It seems your penchant for rule-breaking and your lack of respect for institutionalized authority knows no bounds," she continued. The way she smiled brightly as she spoke made the hairs on the back of Ginny's neck stand on end. "It is clear that you have been using my fireplace to contact individuals outside the castle. I want their names, Mr. Potter. Immediately."

"There's no way in hell he's telling you anything!" Ron burst out.

Umbridge's smile faltered, but only for a moment. "We'll see about that, won't we?" she said, tightening her grip on her wand and giggling breathily. "Well, Mr. Potter?"

Harry didn't even blink. "Like Ron said," he said, his voice full of loathing, "there's no way _in hell_ I'm telling you anything."

This time, Umbridge's grin actually fell to a frown before she was able to recover. "I'm going to give you one last chance," she said. "Tell me who you have been contacting, or I will be forced to resort to more…_persuasive_ means of extracting the information from you."

Harry snorted. "_No_."

"Fine," she said shortly. She turned to Draco, and now her smile looked painfully forced. "Draco, be a dear and fetch Professor Snape."

For a moment, Ginny thought she was going to ask Snape to perform Occlumency on Harry, but when the professor arrived, she demanded that he dose Harry with Veritaserum.

"Unfortunately, Dolores," Snape said dryly, his expression stony, "you exhausted my supply with your entirely unnecessary use of the _entire bottle_ during previous…interrogations…when a mere three drops would have sufficed. It will take a month to brew more." His lips twisted in the barest hint of a smile. "Shall I start now?"

Umbridge snapped. She yelled obscenities and threats at him as he swept calmly from the room, and when the door closed behind him, she whirled back to Harry, eyes flashing maniacally, and raised her wand. "Well then," she said, "the _Cruciatus_ ought to loosen your tongue."

Ginny's eyes widened in horror, and she heard her own voice and Hermione's yell at the same time, "Wait!"

"Ginny…," Draco said lowly, warningly, but Umbridge didn't seem to have heard her. She turned instead to Hermione and narrowed her eyes.

"That's _illegal_!" Hermione was saying. "It's an Unforgiveable! You can't use it on a student! The Minister would never –"

"The _Minister_ has a vested interest in discovering _who_ Mr. Potter has been contacting for the –"

"She's right, Professor," Ginny cut in, trying to keep her voice calm. She couldn't afford to sound as hysterical as Hermione did. She needed to sound reasonable…to convince Umbridge….

"Ginny…," Draco said again, but she barreled on.

"The Minister is bound to find out, Professor," she said, "and it would probably invalidate anything he says anyway, so –"

"Mr. Potter and I have had several conversations about the importance of telling the truth," Umbridge said, turning back to Harry, "and I hardly think the Minister will trouble himself over something so trivial as Mr. Potter's _comfort_." She nearly spat that last, and she raised her wand, flicking it slightly to one side. Her slips curved into one last smile as she hissed, "_Cruc_ –"

And before she quite knew what she was doing, Ginny had raised her wand. "_STUPEFY!_"

Umbridge flew back against the wall, sending several of her cat plates hurtling to the floor, where they shattered into dozens of pieces. "What are you _doing_, Weasley!" Bulstrode yelled, rushing to Umbridge's side.

"_You little_ –" Pansy sneered, turning on Ginny and raising her wand. But Ginny was ready, and adrenaline was pumping through her, quickening her reflexes.

"_Expelliarmus!_" She caught Pansy's wand in mid-air.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Draco and Blaise were unmoving, their expressions frozen in shock. Or maybe it was indecision. She couldn't tell. And she didn't have time to figure it out, because Crabbe's fingers were tightening around his own wand, and she met his eyes warningly, not looking away as she spoke. "Harry?"

"Yeah?" he said, sounding like he couldn't quite believe what was happening.

"Get your wands and go. Right now."

"Come on," he said, and she heard them move to Umbridge's prone body and grab their wands over Bulstrode's protests.

As they crossed the room, Harry squeezed her shoulder. "Thanks," he said, and then raced away.

* * *

><p><em>Several hours later<em>

Ginny knew as soon as the terrified-looking First Year came up to the dormitory to tell her that Harry was out in the dungeons that something was terribly wrong.

After Harry and the rest of them had gone, she'd left Umbridge's office without a backward glance, knowing that when Pansy and the others brought the Headmistress to the Hospital Wing, Madame Pomfrey would hardly be tripping over herself to revive her. Umbridge was despised, which probably meant that Ginny wouldn't have to face the consequences of her actions until tomorrow morning at the earliest.

She'd ensconced herself in her four-poster, casting the strongest anti-intrusion charms she could think of and sitting in the dark. She'd known that trying to sleep was useless, so she'd just sat there, wondering where in the world this left her.

All of Pansy's suspicions about her were confirmed, and she knew that the other girl would waste no time telling the tale to every Slytherin who would listen. She'd defended _Harry Potter_ outright and with her wand. Did that make her a traitor? On the other hand, few Slytherins actually _respected _Umbridge enough to care whether or not someone hexed her. Ginny's reputation was balanced on a knife's edge, and right now she had no way of knowing which way it would tip.

Now she followed the First Year down the stairs, then crossed the Common Room and passed into the dungeons.

And was immediately pushed bodily against the wall, her back flattening against the cold stone. She already had her wand out of her back pocket before she realized that it was Harry above her.

"What the fuck are you doing, Potter?" she asked, shoving him away from her.

"DID YOU KNOW?" he yelled, and the volume of his voice shocked her. She met his eyes and saw that they were flashing with rage. And beneath the rage – grief. Her stomach dropped. "You were living with them! Did you know?" he demanded again.

"Know what?" she whispered, afraid of the answer.

"That they would be there, waiting?"

"What?"

"That it was a bloody _trap_?"

"Harry, I have no idea what you're talking about!" she retorted, frustrated.

"That Lucius bloody Malfoy and half a dozen other Death Eaters were waiting for us at the Department of Mysteries?"

"The _Department of Mysteries_? You went to the –"

He stumbled back against the opposite wall, then slid to the ground and buried his face in his hands, heaving and gasping for air like he was suddenly choking. "They killed Sirius," he managed to say, and she felt her chest tighten. She didn't know the details, but she knew that Sirius Black had been Harry's godfather, that they had been close. And she remembered the tattered man who had come to Harry's side after the Third Task, who had promised to round up the Order of the Phoenix after Cedric's death. And it clicked. That was who Harry had been trying to contact through Umbridge's grate, and that was why Harry had refused to reveal his name – because Sirius was a fugitive. But the Department of Mysteries…? She shook herself and sank down beside him.

"I didn't know, Harry," she murmured. "I didn't know. I didn't know…."

She kept saying it, over and over, but he didn't respond. There were no tears on his face, but he couldn't seem to catch his breath. He just kept heaving with dry sobs, and that was almost more painful to watch.

"I didn't know," she whispered. "I didn't know."

Half an hour later, Harry gathered himself up and went back to Gryffindor Tower. Ginny sat there on the cold stones for several more minutes, staring at the opposite wall and thinking inexplicably not of Sirius Black but of Cedric.

Finally, she straightened, joints aching from staying in the same position for so long, and started back toward the Common Room.

"Ginny." She jumped back, heart pounding, when Draco stepped into her path.

He was standing right in front of her, so she couldn't push past him. She settled on meeting his eyes. "Eavesdropping still a hobby, I see," she said derisively.

"You can't stay with me this summer," he replied flatly, and it sounded almost dismissive.

The statement was so sudden, so unexpected, that it almost knocked the air out of her. She knew he was just as angry with her as she was with him, but she hadn't expected him to be so cold as to leave her with no where to go.

She recovered herself and sneered. "You're a fucking arse, you know that?"

"That may be," he replied icily, "But my house isn't safe. My mother wrote to say that Bellatrix and Rodolphus will be staying with us from now on. And my father will be in prison. There was a battle - at the Department of Mysteries." He paused, his expression twisting strangely. "But you already know that."

She didn't know what to say. She fumbled for a retort or words of comfort or _something_, but he continued before she could reply. "You'll stay with Zabini. It's settled."

And then he turned and disappeared back into the Common Room, leaving her all alone in the dull green glow of the empty dungeon corridor.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> I know, I know. Could they have reacted any _less_ maturely to what happened between them? Probably not. But they're young, and they've still got a long way to go.

On a different note: I uploaded the first chapter of a new DG story I'm writing about two weeks ago – it's called The One Night Stand That Wasn't. It's fun and light and not angsty in the least, and I would love if you checked it out!

And finally, please review, even if it's just a few words. For some reason, this chapter was _extremely_ difficult to write and took me ages to get out. Your thoughts would really help me get inspired for the next one.


	26. Harry and Blaise

**Chapter 26: Harry and Blaise**

Ginny sat in the corner seat, her eyes trained on the green blur of the countryside speeding past the window. Draco sat stiffly beside her, a book propped open on his lap, and Blaise was draped opposite. His eyes were shut, but Ginny could tell by the lightness of his breathing that he wasn't asleep.

The silence felt physically _thick_.

Crabbe and Goyle were off somewhere, and Ginny actually found herself wishing she hadn't hexed Parkinson and turned their not-quite-concealed disdain for each other into full-blown enmity. Maybe then Pansy and Daphne would be in the compartment too, laughing and telling inane stories and providing a distraction from the harsh reality of how fucked up their little trio had become in so short a time.

How fucked up _everything _had become.

Her eyes drifted up to the luggage rack overhead, where this morning's Prophet was practically burning a hole in her train bag. She'd gleaned bits and pieces of what had happened at the Department of Mysteries from Harry, but to read about it – albeit with scant details – in stark black newspaper text had been another thing entirely. Everyone finally knew that Tom was back – there was no denying it now – and Harry was a hero again and Lucius Malfoy was in prison, awaiting trial, and –

She glanced at Draco. He was reading, his expression completely neutral, but cold somehow…constructed. She looked away, the silence suddenly feeling unbearably oppressive, and stood. Without a word, she slid the compartment door back and walked out into the corridor.

Breathing more easily now, she wandered toward the back of the train, hoping to find an empty compartment. The very last one on the corridor had its curtain drawn down, and she hazarded a knock. When no one responded, she peered inside. Good – empty.

She sank down wearily, and the door had just slid shut behind her when someone spoke.

"Ginny."

She nearly jumped out of her skin, and then there was Harry, pulling his Invisibility Cloak off and looking sheepish.

"Bloody hell, Harry!"

"Sorry," he said, starting to laugh and putting up his hands as she tried to catch her breath. He caught her glare, which only made him laugh harder. "Sorry, sorry," he managed. "I thought you might decide not to come in…then I thought it'd be really awful if I didn't say anything and just let you sit there thinking you were alone –" Laughter. "Sorry I'm laughing…but the look on your face just now…."

She rolled her eyes, a grin tugging at the corners of her lips. "You almost gave me a heart attack! What are you – oh, you want to be alone, don't you? I'll just –"

"No, no, it's fine," he said quickly, recovering himself. "I was just hiding out from Ron and Hermione," he admitted, looking sheepish again. "They've been circling like vultures. I think they're worried that I haven't broken down yet…about Sirius." He sobered, then gave a small shrug and looked away. "Obviously they don't know I already had my due breakdown."

Ginny thought of his shaking body, hunched brokenly at the base of the dungeon wall. She exhaled, all the amusement going out of her, but didn't reply.

Suddenly, he looked up. "Sorry, I didn't even think that _you_ probably wanted to be alone. I can go back – _should_, actually – they'll be worried I've offed myself," he said, smiling wryly.

"No," she protested, "I didn't necessarily want to be _alone_…just away from…." She gestured vaguely, then shook her head. "In any case, you should stay…if you want."

He was looking at her inquisitively, but he didn't push it, and she smiled appreciatively. He dug into his pocket. "Chocolate frog?" he asked, and the brightness was only slightly forced.

Her smile widened. "Split it?"

He opened the package and broke her off a piece.

"This is becoming quite a tradition isn't it? Randomly running into each other on the Express and you giving me chocolate frogs."

He bit into his part of the frog. "It's pretty great, as far as traditions go."

"Mm," she agreed, savoring the sweetness. There was nothing quite like a chocolate frog, and since her second year and the Dementors, she'd only loved them more. She paused thoughtfully. "Hey, do you keep in touch with Professor Lupin? I wonder how he's doing."

"He _was_ all right," he replied, "though he's probably not so great now, since Sirius…," he added. "They were friends at school."

"Oh," she replied. "I didn't know that."

"On the upside," he continued, "since Umbridge is discredited at the Ministry, her anti-werewolf legislation will probably be up for review as well."

"Oh," she said. "I didn't know she'd drafted anti-werewolf…." She thought of Lucius Malfoy's party last year, and of Umbridge giggling about how incompetent all of their past Defense professors had been. "Not out of character, though," she grumbled finally. She took a ruthless bite of chocolate. "She was _such_ a bitch."

"People always think that about their bosses," Harry teased, eyes sparkling, and she grinned.

"Touché."

He tipped his frog to her. "I saw her in the Hospital Wing after we got back from the Ministry," he said. "I think Pomfrey gave her something that made her groggy. She hadn't the slightest idea what was going on…didn't stop her ranting and raving like a lunatic though."

Ginny laughed. Now that Dumbledore had been reinstated, none of the students who had defied – or hexed – the old Headmistress were going to be punished, so she could afford to take the matter lightly. "Ranting and raving like a lunatic? Again, not out of character."

He grinned.

* * *

><p>An hour and a half later found them in the same compartment, still talking and laughing good-naturedly. They'd bought more sweets off the cart, and Ginny was tossing Bertie Bott's beans across the compartment into Harry's open mouth.<p>

He ducked his head down low to try to catch one and missed it by an inch. "And you call yourself a Chaser!" he said, grinning cheekily, and she aimed the next one at his eye.

"You should thank me. I'm pretty sure that one was Booger."

"Or Green Apple."

"And you would've risked it?"

"Now you'll never know, will you?"

She smirked and leaned her shoulders back against the compartment wall, settling her legs lengthwise on the seat cushions. "You know," she said, glancing at her watch, "I'm surprised the other two-thirds of your little trio hasn't come looking for you yet."

"I could say the same for you," he replied, arching an eyebrow.

"Mm, my other two-thirds isn't afraid I'm going to off myself."

He nodded slowly, looking out of the window. A long pause, then suddenly he to meet her eyes, his expression sober. "If I say something, do you promise not to storm off?"

She raised her eyebrows. "Depends what you say, I guess…."

He laughed lightly, then said, "You should try to fix things…with your family."

"Harry –"

"No, hear me out. I hate to play the lonely orphan card here –" He smiled boyishly, and she couldn't help the smile that twitched at the corners of her own lips. "– but a week ago, Sirius was the closest thing I had to a family," he continued. "Sure, your parents have been incredible to me, but they'll always be _Ron's_ family first, you know? More than mine."

He met her eyes to see if she understood, and she nodded.

"Anyway, Sirius was like family to me, and now…well, now he's gone, and I just think–" He paused, took a breath. "I know things have been rocky for a while, but a family's not something you can afford to take for granted, and you've got a good one, Ginny."

She didn't know quite what to say, and after a moment he shrugged. "I just thought you ought to hear it from _someone_. And Malfoy and Zabini…." He made a face, and she almost laughed. "Well, they don't exactly have stellar family lives, do they? So I didn't think you'd be getting it from them."

She thought of Lucius and Narcissa. They loved their son, in their own way, but Harry was right. The Malfoy house was nothing like what the Burrow had been when she was growing up – warm and cozy and nurturing. "You're right about Draco," she replied. "I don't know about Blaise, though his mum doesn't seem particularly…motherly. I'll have to get back to you after this summer."

He looked up, surprised. "You're staying at Zabini's?"

"Yeah."

He looked curious, but held his tongue and just nodded slowly. "Safer, at least," he said finally.

"And neutral," she added, meeting his gaze significantly.

"You're going to have to choose eventually, you know," he observed.

Now she rolled her eyes, and he laughed. "Heard _that_ one before, then? It's the truth, though. You're a Slytherin."

She made a face at him. "Slytherins can be neutral."

"Not if they're also Weasleys."

She swallowed. This conversation had gotten a lot more serious than she had expected. "I don't want you to think…I mean, I realize it sounds horrible – talking about being neutral to _you_ of all people. But it's hard for me, because of…." She trailed off, but he was nodding like he understood, even though she was fairly certain he didn't. She felt a rush of affection for him.

"I get it, Ginny," he said. "But you _will_ have to pick sides eventually, one way or another. Especially now that everything's out in the open." He paused, then grinned broadly, his eyes sparkling. "Now, I won't pretend I'm not biased…."

She laughed aloud.

Just then, the train began to slow for its entrance into King's Cross. As it came to a halt, they split the remaining sweets between them, and Ginny shoved her half into her robes pockets as she stood. "This was nice," she said, and he smiled brightly.

"Have a good summer, okay?" he said, sliding open the compartment door. Outside, students were milling around the corridor, slowly making their way to the exits. "And be safe."

"Harry," she said, holding him back in the doorway. He turned and met her eyes. "Write to me, yeah?"

His smile widened. "Of course. And I'll be bored out of my mind at my aunt and uncle's, so you better write back."

When she finally wound her way back to the front of the train, Zabini was leaning against the doorway of their compartment, his arms folded casually across his chest and his eyebrows raised just a fraction of an inch.

"What?" she asked as she slipped past him and grabbed her train bag off the rack, though she knew perfectly well why he was looking at her like that.

"Nothing," he replied, voice neutral.

She glanced around the compartment, realizing it was empty. "Where's Malfoy?"

"Already left."

"Oh." The flash of disappointment that she felt surprised her. Had she really expected him to wait and say goodbye? She shook herself and slung her bag over her shoulder.

"Come on," he said. "There's probably already a wait for the Floo."

They met one of Blaise's House-elves – Priscilla, who reminded Ginny forcibly of Gerald – on the platform, and she unloaded their trunks and escorted them to the Floo. The grate didn't empty out into the foyer as it did at Draco's, and they emerged instead into a large open-air pavilion attached to the house.

"Is Mother in?" Blaise asked, turning to Priscilla, who nodded.

"She's in the small drawing room."

"With?" he prompted.

"Mr. Winslow."

He didn't seem surprised, just nodded and directed Priscilla to bring their things upstairs. "This way," he said, motioning for Ginny to follow him inside.

She'd never been inside the Zabini manor – they'd held the funeral for Blaise's stepfather in the gardens behind – and she realized that she'd been expecting it to be a close replica of Malfoy Manor.

It wasn't.

Blaise's home was much more comfortable, more inviting. They passed through the foyer, which was floored with brown stones and dotted with wooden tables holding elegant flower arrangements, and headed down a corridor to the drawing room. The door was slightly ajar, and Ginny could hear Aradia's tinkling laughter filtering out from inside.

"Mother?" Blaise said, knocking lightly before pulling the door open and striding inside.

"Blaise, darling!"

The room was all warm tones – lush burgundy carpet, velvet settees, mahogany wood – and Aradia, who had stood to give her son a hug, fit into it perfectly.

Ginny had seen her before, of course, at several of the Malfoys' parties last summer, and again at the funeral. She'd assumed at those events that it was the woman's tall frame and perfect hourglass figure that turned heads, but now, up close, she realized it was much more than that. In the golden evening sunlight coming in through the windows, Aradia's skin almost seemed to glow. Her long, dark hair fell in deceptively careless waves down her back, and her full lips were always tilted into an easy smile.

She was gorgeous, but somehow managed to seem charming and approachable. For some reason, Ginny had expected Aradia to be an ice queen, imperious and cold. But she realized now that she was much more dangerous than that.

"This is Xavier Winslow," she said, gesturing to the stately-looking man on the settee across from her.

"We've met," Blaise said, smiling and extending a hand. Watching him, it was suddenly very clear to Ginny where he'd learned his charm. "Last summer, at one of Lucius Malfoy's parties."

"Now, now," Winslow said, smiling broadly and shaking Blaise's hand, "it's probably best to put any past associations with Lucius Malfoy out of our minds, my boy."

"Of course," Blaise replied, nodding solemnly, and Ginny shivered at the cold politics of it all. Last summer, invitations to Lucius's parties had been as highly sought after as World Cup tickets. But now that his star had fallen, everyone would pretend they'd never really known him.

"And Mother, this is Ginny Weasley."

"Ah, yes," Aradia said, turning to Ginny. She was smiling, but for an instant, Ginny could see something cool and detached in her eyes – something calculating. It was gone a moment later. "I've heard so much about you."

"Thank you for letting me stay for the summer," Ginny said. "You have a beautiful home."

Aradia laughed. "Gratefulness and compliments," she said. "A winning combination, particularly with men." She glanced flirtatiously at Winslow, who flushed with pleasure. "That will serve you well in France, my dear."

"France, Mother?" Blaise said, taking the question right out of Ginny's mouth.

"Oh, Xavier has been incredibly generous, and has invited us to spend the summer at his chateau on the coast. It's absolutely gorgeous." Gratefulness and compliments, Ginny thought wryly. "So you'd best not unpack," Aradia continued. "We leave tomorrow. I've been telling Blaise all year that I've been _dying_ to get out of Britain for a while, haven't I, Blaise?"

Blaise nodded.

"And especially now that things are getting so _complicated _here…." She gestured vaguely toward the Prophet lying next to her glass of red wine.

Ginny's thoughts drifted. _France_ for the summer? Blaise was smiling agreeably, but she could tell that he was just as surprised by this turn of events as she was. She supposed it would do no harm, and getting away from everything for two months would be a relief…but she couldn't help feeling a pang of regret that she wouldn't see Draco all summer.

As they left the drawing room half an hour later, Blaise laughed a little to himself. "Dying to get out of Britain for a while…things are getting complicated here…," he muttered, shaking his head amusedly.

"What?" she asked.

"Just my mum," he replied. "Ever since the rumors about the Dark Lord started cropping up again, she's been meaning to take some of the money and invest it on the continent. Leave it to her to find someone with a chateau on the coast."

Ginny raised her eyebrows. "If she's been meaning to invest on the continent for a while, why not just take the money herself? Why wait for Winslow and his chateau?"

He turned to her. "Different kind of investment," he said, and when he smirked he looked so much like his usual self, without the anger or the brooding or the awkwardness that had inserted itself into his expression over the past few weeks, that she couldn't help smiling back.

* * *

><p>The next night, she had just pushed her trunk into the large walk-in closet of her newly-assigned bedroom at Winslow's chateau and was in the process of pulling on her pajamas when there was a knock on the door.<p>

"Who is it?" she called out, buttoning the last button on her top.

"It's me," Blaise replied, and she crossed the room to open the door. "I just came to see how you're settling in," he said, stepping inside and shutting the door with his heel so he could lean back against it.

She sank down onto her bedspread and folded her legs beneath her. "I'm fine. The house is beautiful."

Blaise gave a non-committal shrug, and she laughed. "You, I see, are not so easily impressed."

"I've seen better," he said. "The town's nice, though, or so I've heard."

She paused, considering, then said, "Should we go see it tomorrow?" She honestly wasn't sure what his answer would be. There was really no reason for her and Blaise to be at odds – they were both angry at Draco, not at each other – but their friendship had taken strain anyway, and she didn't know if –

"Yeah," he said firmly, meeting her eyes, "unless you want to rot in this house."

She smiled broadly.

"I saw a chessboard in the library on the way in," he commented. "You know, if you're in the mood to lose miserably at something."

"Oh-ho!" she laughed. "That's big talk, Zabini."

"Hardly. I'll get the board."

He turned to leave, but she suddenly felt the urge to say something…just to get it off her chest. "You could've told me, you know," she said, and he halted with his hand on the door handle. "Up front. Probably would have saved us a lot of trouble."

He turned back slowly, and his face twisted into something between a wry smirk and a grimace. "You know, I've been thinking about it," he said soberly, "and I actually think it would've caused _more_ trouble."

Her brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

He shrugged, and after a moment he looked up and grinned. "So. Let's get to the inevitable, shall we?"

* * *

><p>For some reason, Draco had expected the Manor to feel different. Its owners were disgraced – his father was in Azkaban, for Merlin's sake – and his Aunt Bellatrix and her husband were staying…. Somehow, he'd expected the house to reflect all of the changes. But when he came out of the Floo into the foyer, everything felt largely the same.<p>

Gerald bowed low. "Welcome home, Master Draco," he said. "Your mother would like to speak with you. She's in the library with Master and Mistress Lestrange."

Draco's expression hardened. He'd hoped to put off seeing Bellatrix and Rodolphus for at least the rest of the evening. They made his skin crawl, though maybe that was just the memory what it had been like in Azkaban the last time he'd seen them, when his mother had taken him for a visit. He shivered, then felt a pang as he considered what his father was going through now.

He shook himself. There was nothing for it, so he crossed the foyer and exhaled once before knocking on the library door and walking in.

"Draco!" his mum said. "Good, I was beginning to worry." Narcissa was as polished as ever in a long-sleeved white dress and with perfectly coifed hair, though when he looked closely he could tell that her eyes were ringed dark beneath her make-up.

"Mother," he said, returning her hug. He wanted to ask about his father and about whether or not a trial date had been set, but Bellatrix and Rodolphus were observing him keenly, and he wasn't about to discuss _that_ in front of _them_.

"Say hello to your aunt and uncle, Draco," his mother said sternly.

"Forgive me," he said, smiling stiffly. "Where are my manners?"

"Manners are useless," Bellatrix said with a snort. She turned back to her sister. "Now _manners_ are something your husband has in abundance, Cissy."

Narcissa shot her a warning glare, but Bellatrix just gave a small cackle of laughter. "Don't get your knickers in a knot, Cissy," she said, looking like she was enjoying her sister's discomfort immensely. "It's _something_ at least, though as I said, manners don't count for much when loyalty and dedication are lacking."

Draco felt a flash of anger, and he noted that Rodolphus, who was laughing along with his wife in between casual sips of scotch, was sitting in Lucius's usual armchair. He resisted the urge to scowl. "I wasn't aware you thought so little of my father," he said instead, voice hard.

"Son," – Draco balked at Rodolphus's use of the word – "_everyone_ thought that little of your father." The man took another lazy sip of amber liquid, looking amused.

"Everyone who was worth their wand, anyway," Bellatrix said. She met his eyes, one thin black eyebrow arched. "Those of us who were truly loyal to the Dark Lord went to Azkaban for our beliefs. Your father renounced his Mark with the flimsiest of excuses and carried on accumulating wealth and influence for more than a decade. If anything, his getting caught at the Ministry is a bit of poetic justice. Disloyalty gets its due reward."

Draco clenched his fingers around the edge of the table behind him. "If true loyalty entails rotting uselessly in prison for years on end rather than working to control resources and positions of power," he replied coldly, "then I think the Dark Lord could use _more_ disloyal followers, don't you?"

Bellatrix's gaze hardened, and Draco had to force himself not to flinch back. "Raising a little traitor, are you, Cissy?" she asked, turning to Narcissa. "Or does disloyalty run in the Malfoy blood?"

"Again, you seem to be confusing loyalty for idiocy," Draco replied.

She met his eyes, held his gaze for a long moment, and then did something unexpected. She barked out a loud laugh. "At least he's not a coward, then," she mused. Strangely, she sounded impressed. "Still," she continued after a pause, cocking her head to consider him as if she was looking at him for the first time, "if you don't want to be labeled a traitor, Draco, you should watch what you say…and whom you associate with."

"What?" he said, caught off guard by that last bit. She must be talking about Ginny, he realized, but how could she know about his social life? His friends?

At the look on his face, she laughed again, then answered his question almost as if he had asked it aloud. "If you think the Dark Lord doesn't have eyes and ears at Dumbledore's excuse for a school, maybe you aren't so smart after all."

His mind raced as he wondered who it was – it could be any number of fellow Slytherins…Snape perhaps?

"This fallout with Arthur Weasley's daughter is for the best, son," Rodolphus put in.

Merlin, Draco thought, whoever it was certainly delivered up-to-date information. That meant Snape was out – so a student…. He shook himself. That wasn't the important question. No, who it was wasn't nearly as important as why in the world The Dark Lord cared about his relationship with Ginny Weasley.

He realized that they were waiting for him to respond. He straightened his robes, then looked Rodolphus in the eye. "Don't call me that," he said flatly. "I am _not_ your son." And with that, he strode from the room.

* * *

><p><em>Two months later<em>

Draco sat down on the low, stone bench, glancing warily down the length of the room to where a pair of black-swathed Dementors hovered by the door. He shivered and pulled his cloak more tightly around his shoulders. He could already feel the warmth being sucked from his body.

There was a rattle of chains, and he looked up to see his father sinking onto the bench opposite. He could see through the wall of iron bars that separated them that Lucius looked terrible…more degraded than Draco would have thought possible in just two months. His face was gaunt; there were deep, dark pockets beneath his eyes, and his usually pale skin had turned sallow.

But when he spoke, his voice still held its usual haughtiness. "Draco," he said, pushing a stray piece of blonde hair behind his ear. "I had expected a sooner visit." He fixed his son with a hard, accusing look.

"I'm sorry, Father," Draco replied. "I've been busy meeting with your lawyers, and there have been quite a few financial obligations to attend to." He smiled wryly. "It seems that many of your friends have suddenly remembered debts you owe them and want them settled immediately."

Lucius laughed mirthlessly. "Yes, they'd like our business transactions settled before they cut off all contact, I'm sure."

"Exactly. I've settled everything, though there are a few claims I'd like you to check." He withdrew a short list from his pocket.

Lucius scanned it and handed it back. "All are fine except the last," he said. "Tell Dulwich that I see no reason to reimburse him for losses sustained through his own stupidity."

Draco re-folded the sheet of paper and pocketed it. They were silent for a moment, and he observed his father, realizing that the man looked significantly thinner beneath the gray prison-issue clothes. He felt a pang of pity. "Father," he said, moving to reach between the bars for a reassuring squeeze of the hand or…something, "Are you all right in here?"

Lucius jerked away, and Draco stiffened, drawing his hand back into his lap. "Sentimentality will get you no where, Draco," he said harshly. "You had best squelch those impulses, or else our family reputation will never survive my imprisonment."

"I think it's your imprisonment that's doing our family's reputation the most harm right now, Father," Draco retorted, "_not_ my sentimentality."

"Watch your tone," Lucius replied, eyes flashing. He paused. "No," he continued after a moment, "we can still be salvaged. Our options are simply more limited. We can no longer hope to play both sides. We must throw our entire weight behind the Dark Lord and hope that he prevails."

Draco thought about what Bellatrix had said about his father's loyalty and wondered if his father was deluding himself into thinking they still had _any_ options left.

But Lucius was still speaking, and his eyes were suddenly fierce with something like desperation. "Draco," he said, "there will be repercussions for my failure to retrieve the Prophecy from the Ministry."

"The Prophecy?" he asked. Somehow, in the midst of all the drama that had surrounded his father's capture at the Ministry, Draco had never stopped to wonder what Lucius had been doing there in the first place.

But Lucius spoke over him. "I don't know what form the repercussions will take, but my failure, coupled with your exploits during your second year…." Draco swallowed a retort. "Whatever the Dark Lord asks of you, Draco," Lucius continued, "you must do it. It's the only way our family will survive this war with any kind of power intact."

* * *

><p>"Gerald," he said, standing and swiping the particles of soot off his pant legs, "bring me a chocolate bar. Now."<p>

Gerald bowed low and moved off, leaving Draco alone in the foyer. He exhaled heavily, trying to shake off the lingering effects of the Dementors, even though he knew he wouldn't feel right for the rest of the night. He glanced up at the tall windows. Outside it was pitch black. He must have been in Azkaban for longer than he thought.

The House-elf returned with the chocolate bar, and he bit into it, feeling a small measure of relief flood his body. He thought involuntarily of Ginny, who had carried a chocolate frog in her pocket every day during her second year, when the Dementors had been guarding the castle. He shook himself. The last thing he needed right now was to think of Ginny and how they hadn't spoken or written to each other all summer.

He started toward the staircase, then stopped in his tracks. There were voices coming from the dining room, and the low murmur sounded out of the ordinary. He moved a bit closer, until he could make out some of the words.

"– her loyalty, my Lord?"

Draco froze. That was Bellatrix, and she must be speaking to –

"Dumbledore is up to something…." It was the Dark Lord. "…sneaking around, digging into things he has no business…." Draco strained to hear, but the Dark Lord's voice was low and quiet, and he could only hear bits and pieces. "…parts of my past that I would rather stayed buried."

"And what does…." That sounded like Rodolphus. "…she have to do with it?"

Draco moved even closer, until he was just a few feet away from the double doors that led into the dining room. Between them, he could make out a bit of the room, but Bellatrix was standing a few feet in front, and her back blocked his view.

A heavy sigh of impatience, then, "Eventually, Dumbledore will share his plans with Potter…he always does. And when that happens, we will need someone close to the boy to pass on the information to us…." More murmuring that Draco couldn't make out. "…none of Potter's friends can be turned, and there are no other…."

"Master Draco."

Draco started. He whirled to see Gerald standing behind him, an envelope held between his slender fingers. Draco strode quickly away from the doors, back toward the staircase. "_What?_" he demanded testily.

"This letter just arrived for you, Sir," Gerald said, his voice betraying no emotion. Draco wondered if Bellatrix or Rodolphus had ordered the House-elf to keep away eavesdroppers. It was just the sort of job Gerald relished. Then again, whatever it was that the Dark Lord, Bellatrix, and Rodolphus were planning, maybe he was better off not knowing.

He scowled and nearly snatched the envelope from Gerald's grasp, then headed upstairs to the privacy of his room. He tossed it onto his mattress and went straight to the shower. He needed to wash off the sense of dread that had seeped into his skin at Azkaban.

Half an hour later, in his pajamas and in bed, he ripped open the envelope.

_Malfoy,_

_It's been a while. Sorry I haven't written before – Weasley and I are in the south of France with my mum and her latest flame. How's your father, and how are you?_

_Blaise_

The letter was short and sweet, and it made its point. Blaise was extending the olive branch. So either he'd gotten over Weasley, or the two of them had gotten together and were now snogging each other senseless somewhere in the south of France. The thought of the latter sent an irrational jolt of anger through his body.

He tossed the letter a little harder than necessary onto his bedside table and extinguished the light with a flick of his wand. But he would write back first thing in the morning. Whatever was happening on the continent, Draco appreciated that Blaise had written.

He stared up at the bright imitation stars that dotted his enchanted canopy. He'd been trying _not_ to think about Weasley all summer, and with his father in prison, Bellatrix and Rodolphus in the manor, and the finances to be settled, it hadn't been as difficult a task as he'd expected.

But Blaise's letter forced the issue, because it threw into stark relief the fact that Ginny _hadn't_ written. Not for two months. It was the longest they'd gone without speaking since she'd been Sorted, for Merlin's sake.

He didn't know what she'd wanted him to say to Blaise that morning. Sure, maybe he should have been a bit more delicate, but if he'd gone full the other way and declared undying love or something, what would _that_ have done to their friendship? He'd been honest, at least, and since when did Ginny Weasley need him to sugarcoat things?

He made a frustrated sound. If she wanted to tear down their friendship over a stupid night and a few off-hand words, so be it. He hadn't been willing to beg for her forgiveness at the beginning of the summer, and he wasn't willing to now.

But for all his self-righteous determination, he felt a deeper sort of emptiness than even the Dementors had been able to instill.

Their friendship had been so unlikely in the first place, so impossibly delicate, that he supposed he shouldn't be surprised that it was collapsing over something so seemingly trivial.

But _fuck_. He missed her.

Especially now, when everything was going to hell.

He thought of the bits of conversation he had overheard this evening and wondered vaguely what the Dark Lord was planning. Something about Dumbledore digging into his past and Harry and having someone close….

But before he could figure any of it out, he had already fallen asleep.

* * *

><p><em>A few weeks later<em>

Ginny's room was a complete mess. It was the day before the start of term, and early tomorrow morning they had to Apparate back to London and then Floo from the Apparition Point to King's Cross to meet the Express. She'd taken everything out of her closet and was in the process of getting it all back into her trunk.

"How much free time does Potter _have_?" Blaise asked incredulously, holding up a tall stack of envelopes bound together with twine. "He's written you half a tree's worth of letters."

"Don't you _dare_," Ginny said, glaring as Blaise made to open one. "Haven't you ever heard of privacy?"

He sighed theatrically and tossed the stack back into her trunk. "And what's this?" he asked, holding up another envelope, which looked much more official, sporting the Hogwarts seal and all. "Ah, right," he said, tapping it against her bedpost, "Your Prefect letter. Why do all of my friends have so much fucking disciplinary power?"

She grinned. "You're one to talk, _Captain_," she replied.

They had gotten their letters on the same day two weeks ago – Snape had made her Prefect and Blaise Quidditch Captain. They'd had a good laugh over how Urquhart, who'd been boasting about what a great Captain he'd be, would take the news.

Blaise glanced at his watch. "Damn, I lost track of time. Have to go."

She looked up from the blouse she was folding. "Where?" she asked curiously.

He smirked. "What's that you were saying earlier about privacy?"

"All right, be dark and mysterious," she replied, rolling her eyes amusedly. "See if I care."

He grinned and left the room.

An hour later, she'd just finished packing when one of Winslow's House-elves knocked lightly on the door. "Dinner is ready, Miss Weasley."

"Thanks," she replied. "Have you told Mr. Zabini?"

"Not yet, Miss. He wasn't in his room. I was going to check the parlor."

"It's all right. I'll go get him," she volunteered. The parlor was on the way to the dining room, and anyway, she was curious about where he'd gotten off to.

She took the stairs two at a time, then crossed into the parlor, her bare feet moving soundlessly over the parquet flooring. "Blaise?" she called, scanning the length of the room. She didn't see him and shrugged to herself. Maybe he was in the –

She heard a sound – something like a laugh? – coming from behind the door at the end of the parlor, which led to another room beyond. She walked over, but didn't hear anything else, and pulled open the door.

And saw Blaise, with his belt buckle undone and a girl that Ginny didn't recognize up against the wall, her skirt pushed up around her hips.

"Fuck," she swore. "Sorry." And then she slammed the door shut and left the room as quickly as she could.

* * *

><p>Later that night, she was reading by the dim glow of her bedside lamp when Blaise knocked lightly on her doorframe.<p>

"Get a good view earlier?" he asked cheekily, settling beside her on the bed.

Ginny set her book on the nightstand and shot him a look. "Not particularly, but I rinsed my eyeballs out with bleach, and now I feel much better."

He laughed, crossing his right ankle over his left and leaning back against the headboard. He turned his head to look at her, and she noted that their faces were mere inches apart.

"So," she said after a moment, forcing herself not to turn away, "girlfriend?" She found that she was whispering, like they were talking about something secret.

"Not that I'm aware of," he answered conspiratorially, whispering too, and she smiled.

"Mm, typical. And how long have you been…?"

"Three weeks maybe?"

She barked out a mirthless laugh. "Thanks for letting me know," she said dryly, switching back to a normal volume. She froze. She'd meant it to sound light, teasing, but she realized as soon as the words were out of her mouth that in the context of everything that had happened, it sounded accusatory.

Blaise's eyebrows went up, and his grin slipped. After a pause, he met her eyes. "You didn't expect me to still be mooning over you, did you?" he asked, and his voice had an edge to it.

"No, no," she said quickly, "that's not what I –"

But even as she protested, she realized that maybe some part of her _was_ a bit disappointed. She didn't fancy him, but she _had_, during her third year. Or at least, she'd fantasized an inordinate amount about snogging him.

And it had only been three months since he'd said _he_ fancied _her_, enough to ask her to Hogsmeade, and they'd spent so much time together this summer…. An irrational, selfish part of her was disappointed that she was apparently so easy to get over.

He seemed to read her hesitation in her eyes. He grasped her chin and tipped it up so she was looking at him, and for one crazy moment, she thought he might kiss her.

But then he spoke. "I like you, Ginny. Fancy you, even," he said, his voice suddenly incredibly serious, and her breath hitched. "You're funny and strong and dead sexy."

She managed an eye-roll at that, and a smile ghosted over his lips.

"But I've done a lot of thinking this summer," he continued, "and the fact of the matter is, I don't play second fiddle to anyone."

Her brow furrowed. "I wouldn't be asking you to," she said softly.

He held her gaze, deep, deep black on brown.

"Yes," he replied, "you would. And if you don't know that, then you and Malfoy are blinder than I thought."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Sorry if this chapter felt a bit filler. It's necessary set-up for the next one, which will be MUCH more exciting, trust me. Fair warning, though – you'll probably have to wait for a while. I'm headed back to school, and I have a crazy few months ahead. And I mean, CRAZY. Law school applications and thesis-writing and trying to figure out my class schedule. Wish me luck…I'm gonna need it!

Oh, and don't worry – I haven't forgotten about Draco's mission…far from it. I've just put it off, so stay tuned, and in the meantime, please review!


	27. Of Rumors and Realizations

**Chapter 27: Of Rumors and Realizations**

Ginny scanned the train compartment, only half-listening as the new Head Girl went over the Prefect instructions line by line.

She'd already read everything in the packet Snape had sent out over the summer. Blaise had teased her mercilessly over it, but she'd thought of Cedric sitting under the tree near the Burrow, reading the whole thing top to bottom, and she hadn't been able to leave it. She smiled wryly at the memory.

"…on the patrol schedule. If you can't make your time one week, you'll have to come see me or…."

She drew herself back to the present, and went back to looking around the compartment.

Ron was sitting opposite, looking utterly bored. He'd done a double take when she'd walked in, but hadn't had a chance to say anything to her before the meeting started. Hermione was next to him, sitting at the very edge of the seat and taking neat notes on a sheet of parchment. Ginny wondered how any of this could be new – this was Hermione's second year as a Prefect, after all.

She didn't know many of the others, except for the Slytherins, of course, who were ranged on her side of the compartment.

She glanced sidelong at Draco. They'd spent the first few hours of the train ride in a compartment with Blaise, Crabbe, and Goyle. Luckily, Goyle had spent the summer in Greece, and between his mindless stories and Blaise and Crabbe's running commentary, she and Draco hadn't had to speak at all.

Now he was leaning his shoulders back against the seat, his right ankle resting on his left knee, and his usual expression of careless condescension on his face.

But she could tell from the tightness in his jaw and the stiff curve of his back that it was mostly show. Even though they hadn't spoken in months, she knew him too well to be fooled.

He was exhausted…and unhappy. She felt her chest tighten.

The train jerked a bit, then began to slow. "All right, I guess we'll have to stop there," the Head Girl said, clearing her throat and folding the sheet of parchment she was holding crisply in half. "Don't forget that it's your responsibility to escort the First Years to the Common Room after the feast."

"Our next meeting is in a week," the Head Boy added as the Express came to a full stop. "We'll be talking about Hogsmeade weekend dates."

Draco left the compartment immediately without a glance in her direction. She felt her chest tighten again, and then an accompanying flash of irrational annoyance. For fuck's sake – if they kept on like this, this year was going to be hell. She had to do something about it, if only for pragmatic reasons.

With a sigh, she shouldered her train bag. Thank Merlin she'd had the presence of mind to bring it to the meeting. The corridor outside was crammed full of students; going back to the compartment for it would've taken a full fifteen minutes.

Finally, she stepped off the train and out into the open night air. The older students were all milling around, moving slowly in the general direction of the carriages.

"Weasley!" She turned to see Blaise coming toward her, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. "_Merlin_, that was long meeting. What did they do – read you the whole instruction manual?"

She rolled her eyes. "Pretty much."

"Where's Malfoy?" he asked, glancing past her.

She shrugged nonchalantly. "No idea. He might have gone back to the compartment."

"Right," he said neutrally, looking back to where students were still spilling out of the Express. "Well, it's going to take the bloody wanker years to get through that mess," he said with a grin, slinging a casual arm around her shoulder, "so we might as well get comfortable."

She smiled and opened her mouth to reply.

"Well, well, well," a voice interrupted from behind them. Ginny turned to see Urquhart swaggering up, his arms folded across his chest and Terence Higgs at his side.

Her eyebrows went up.

"Looks like Weasley finally picked her man," Urquhart said, coming to a halt a few feet in front of them and smirking. "Left Malfoy in the cold, huh, Weasley? Convenient timing. His star's waned."

Ginny rolled her eyes and stepped out from under Blaise's arm. "Stars don't wane, you idiot," she deadpanned. Blaise snorted. "Ironically," she added, "that wasn't the most incomprehensible thing you just said."

Urquhart's smirk hardly faltered. Not quite as easy to beat as Flint, then, she thought.

"I'm only saying what everyone else is thinking," he replied. His eyebrows, which nearly met in the middle of his forehead, tilted mockingly, and he gestured around. She glanced to the left and right. People were pausing in their conversations and looking over, obviously sensing a brewing confrontation.

"I honestly have no idea what you're talking about, Urquhart," she said, though she had a pretty good idea.

"I'm _talking_ about what everyone was saying at the end of last term – that you couldn't decide which one of them you wanted to keep on your leash…." He paused for dramatic effect and grinned, showing crooked teeth. "…so you tried them both out."

There was a sharp intake of breath from around them, and Ginny's expression hardened.

He smirked at the reaction he was getting, his gaze shifting briefly to Zabini. "Looks like we have a winner. Unsurprising, given what everyone says about his mother." Beside her, Ginny heard Blaise reach for his wand, but Urquhart continued unfazed. "Probably the only thing he's good at, anyway –"

Ah, there it was. So _that's_ what this was about. Ginny laughed aloud. Urquhart paused, eyes narrowing. "What?" he demanded testily. He was obviously miffed that she'd interrupted his big performance.

She smiled lightly. "If you're angry that Zabini got the Quidditch captaincy," she said, "why don't you just come right out and say it?"

There was a titter of laughter from around them, and Urquhart flushed at his cheekbones.

"I am not –" he began, frazzled. He stopped short, trying to recover, and scowled. "I am _not_ talking about Snape's embarrassing excuse for a Quidditch Captain pick," he snapped finally. "I'm talking about the fact that we all underestimated you, Weasley."

"Maybe you should learn from your mistakes," she cut in.

More laughter, and she could tell that Urquhart was really frustrated now. She smirked.

"We all thought that hat had gone senile," he said, "putting someone like _you_ in _our_ House. But it turns out you're plenty cutthroat. I admire that." He sneered, and then his lips curved up into a mocking smile. "I also admire the fact that you have no problem spreading your legs for every –"

There was a collective gasp, and Ginny felt anger explode in her chest. She reached for her wand. "Careful, Urquhart," someone cut in.

Ginny turned to see Draco standing next to Blaise, his expression cold and his wand already tapping lightly against the side of his leg.

"Don't," she said, meeting Draco's eyes. She wasn't going to let anyone else have the satisfaction. She turned back to Urquhart, who was grinning broadly now. "I've got this one." And then, in one swift movement, she drew her wand – and hexed him.

Urquhart screeched loudly as bats began to barrel out of his nose, then fell to the ground, trying frantically to cover his face with his hands.

Ginny pocketed her wand and strode over. "Finish that sentence," she said, speaking loudly so he could hear her over his own yells and the shocked laughter of the crowd around them, "and they won't _just_ be flying out of your nose."

"WHAT IN MERLIN'S BEARD IS GOING ON HERE?"

Shit.

She looked past Urquhart's writhing body, half-expecting McGonagall or Binns. Instead, standing a few feet away with his hands folded across his protruding belly was a man Ginny didn't recognize. But he was obviously a new professor. Damn.

"Sorry, Professor. I –" she began.

He did something completely unexpected. He _chortled_. "That was quite a spell, Miss…."

Her eyes widened in surprise. Maybe he wasn't a professor after all…? She took a second look at him. He was short and exceptionally fat – the shiny gold buttons on his bright purple waistcoat looked like they were about to pop right off. And he was completely bald, though all of the hair from his head seemed to have migrated onto his face to make up the enormous walrus mustache on his upper lip. Well, he certainly wasn't a student, but if –

She realized that he was looking at her expectantly. "Weasley," she finished.

He grinned broadly, which made his mustache tremor at the corners. "_Well_, Miss Weasley," he said, "why don't you relieve your Housemate of his current discomfort, and then I think you and I should have a little chat."

So he _was_ a Professor. She sighed and flicked her wand. Urquhart stopped moaning.

She followed the new professor a little ways away from the crowd of students.

"Horace Slughorn," he said brightly, extending a hand. She tried not to look confused as she took it.

"Ginny."

"And you're a Slytherin, I take it?" he said, motioning to her green-and-silver-striped tie.

She nodded. "Fifth Year."

"Now that I'm returning as Potions professor," he said, "I'm not meant to play favorites." He chortled again at that. So he _was _a professor, she thought. But _Potions_? What about Snape? "But I confess, Ginny," Slughorn continued, lowering his voice conspiratorially, "it makes me quite proud to see spell work of that caliber coming from a student of my former House."

Ginny had no idea what was going on. "Sorry, what?" she blurted out.

Slughorn laughed again. He patted her on the shoulder. "Don't worry, I'm not going to chastise you for your little display back there, though I might recommend some less…violent means of dispute resolution. I am simply very impressed by your spell work. Why, I haven't seen that effective a hex since I was Head of Slytherin House and –"

"Ginny? I've been looking all over for –"

She turned to see Harry standing a few feet away.

"Oh, Professor Slughorn!" he said, shooting Ginny a confused glance. "Sorry to, er…interrupt."

"Ah, Harry, my boy! No problem at all, no problem at all!" the professor replied brightly. "Tell me, how did you enjoy lunch? Pudding wasn't too watery, was it? I was afraid it might be."

"No, no, Professor…the pudding was fine," Harry replied, glancing at Ginny again. She was _completely_ lost at this point.

"Do you and Ginny here know each other?" Slughorn asked.

"Yeah," Ginny replied, "we do."

He paused. "Ah, that's _right_," he said after a moment, getting a strange twinkle in his eye. "Now that I think of it, I do recall hearing some rumor or other from a good friend of mine, a very high-ranking editor over at the Daily Prophet." He patted Harry heartily on the back. "I should have known she'd be an exceptional witch, my boy."

Now Harry looked just as baffled as she was. "Sorry, Professor, but I don't really know –"

"I was just about to invite Ginny to join my little club," Slughorn continued over him. He turned back to Ginny. "I'm having a little get-together in a few weeks' time – just me and a few other students – very casual. Harry here can tell you all about it. I would be very pleased if you could attend."

"I –" Ginny stammered. "That sounds nice, I suppose."

"Wonderful! Well, I'll let the two of you get to it, then, shall I?" he said, getting that odd twinkle in his eye again. He let out another bellow of a laugh, then moved off.

She turned to Harry, who snorted and ran a hand through his hair. "What the hell was that all about?" she asked, feeling a bit shell-shocked.

"_That_ was Professor Slughorn," he replied, grinning. "He's the new Potions professor."

"What about Snape?"

"Dumbledore finally gave him Defense," he said, sobering. He made a face.

She laughed at his expression. "Anyone's better than Umbridge, right?"

"A month ago I would've agreed with you," he grumbled.

"So what exactly is this 'little club?'" she asked.

He shrugged again. "Slughorn's way of getting to know students he thinks will be…influential later on, I think. Zabini was at the lunch today." She followed his gaze to where Blaise and Draco were conversing near the train car. Harry turned back and raised his eyebrows at her. "So what'd you do to impress him?"

She barked out a laugh. "Hexed Urquhart." She paused. "You sure he's not completely _mad_?"

Harry laughed aloud. "He probably is," he mused. "Then again, hexing that wanker would definitely be enough to get you invited to _my_ parties."

Ginny grinned. "It's nice to see you, Potter," she said after a pause. "I'd ask you about your summer," she continued, grin widening, "but your letters were pretty much a play by play, so…."

"Don't give me that, _Weasley_," he replied with a glare of mock offense. "Your letters were just as long. And not nearly as exciting." He laughed when she shoved him. "You know, we should probably get up to the castle." He met her eyes. "We have an extra place in our carriage if you want to join."

By now, most of the other students had dispersed, but she saw Ron and Hermione were waiting a little way away.

She looked over to where Blaise and Draco were still deep in conversation, and realized that going with Harry was looking very attractive. She wouldn't have to listen to any more of Goyle's inane stories while pretending that every second of the awful awkwardness with Draco didn't make her want to pull her hair out. And anyway, she mused, there was only really room for four in a carriage, and with Crabbe and Goyle along, it would be a tight fit.

Then she thought of her earlier resolution – to do something about Draco – and sighed. Now was as good a time as any. "Yeah, sure," she said finally. "But let me just…."

She gestured vaguely, but Harry seemed to understand what she was getting at, and nodded. She headed over to Blaise and Draco.

"Are you and Potter done with your little heart-to-heart?" Blaise asked, arching an eyebrow as she strode up.

"Not quite," she replied. "I'm going to head up to the castle with him, actually. So I'll see you at the feast."

She ignored the look Blaise gave her and turned resolutely to Draco. "Can we talk for a second?"

His eyebrows went up ever so slightly, but he shrugged. "Fine."

When they had moved a little way away, she turned to face him head-on. "Malfoy, I –"

"I didn't realize you and Potter had gotten so close," he said suddenly. His voice was laced with derision, and she felt a sharp flash of annoyance.

"We wrote a lot over the summer," she replied testily. "Things change."

"Yeah," he said sardonically, "though apparently not for the better."

"Yes, well," she retorted, "sometimes you need a good friend."

It was a low blow, and she knew it. She watched his expression harden. "_Look_," she said quickly before he could reply, "I'm sorry. That was unnecessary." She sighed. "Can we at least be civil? Things will be a lot simpler if we're not openly hostile."

"You obviously haven't seen a lot of open hostility if you think that's what this is," he said coldly.

"You're not making this easy," she said.

"I'm not trying to."

She made an exasperated sound. "Forget it," she said wearily, turning away.

She made it three steps, and then, "Fine."

She paused. "What?"

"Let's try civility," he said, and she thought she saw a wry smile ghost over his lips.

Her eyes flicked up to his again, and quite suddenly the memory of what Blaise had said to her, just last night, flashed unbidden across her mind.

_I don't play second fiddle to anyone_, he'd said. And when she'd protested that she wouldn't have been asking him to….

_Yes, you would. And if you don't know that, then you and Malfoy are blinder than I thought._

She shook herself and swallowed. Draco was looking at her expectantly. "Good," she said slowly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'll…see you later, then."

He paused for a long moment, then nodded.

"Right," she said unnecessarily.

They stood there, not speaking, for several more seconds, gazes locked. She wondered what they were waiting for. Did he want her to say something? Did _she_ want _him_ to? She didn't know.

Finally, she forced herself to look away and then to turn her back. She exhaled and started over to where Harry, Ron, and Hermione were waiting for her, mind racing.

She'd gotten what she'd wanted, and simply enough – a truce of sorts, a guarantee that they wouldn't spend the next nine months in bitter silence. And yet….

She felt empty, somehow. Unsatisfied.

Like there had been much, _much_ more that they should've said.

Blaise's words were running circles through her mind.

She couldn't help remembering her first thought when she'd woken that morning-after. She'd realized that they'd changed everything – done something irreversible. She'd realized that they wouldn't be satisfied with _just_ friendship, not anymore. And she'd thought, for the briefest of moments, that maybe they _could_ be more.

But it had just taken every ounce of self-control they had to construct a simple ceasefire. So what was the use in thinking about –

She shook herself. There _wasn't_ any use thinking about that, she thought firmly.

But as she walked toward the waiting carriage, she could practically feel his eyes following her, and she couldn't help thinking that, useless or not, they _should_ have thought about it. They should be thinking about it _right now_. As she ducked through the carriage doorway, settled into the seat, and schooled her expression to cool nonchalance, she wondered why leaving things at a truce felt so much like running away.

And maybe it was the being back in her green-draped four-poster, or maybe it was the fact that all anyone seemed to be able to talk about was Tom's return, or maybe it was just seeing Draco again. But that night, for the first time in months, she had a nightmare. She woke up shaking, and the pride it took to keep from going to the boys' dormitory nearly choked her.

* * *

><p><em>A few days later<em>

Draco observed Ginny over the top of his cup, taking in the slightly darkened skin beneath her eyes and the haphazard messiness of her ponytail. He wondered why she wasn't sleeping well.

It was Saturday morning, and they were down at breakfast. Zabini hadn't come down to the Great Hall yet, so it was just the two of them, sitting across from each other and picking at their plates. They'd come to a truce, but Draco thought it was almost worse – now they were reduced to polite small talk, stiff questions, and one-word answers.

"Quidditch try-outs next week," she commented, eyes fixed on her eggs.

"Zabini's not even making us try out," he replied.

"Really?" she asked, quirking an eyebrow at him.

He met her eyes. "Come on, are you really surprised?"

She snorted. "Not even a _show_ of impartiality, then?"

"He knows we're the best," he replied, smirking.

"Mm…well, who are we to question the _Captain_, right?" Her voice lilted teasingly, and he smiled.

"You know how much we respect authority."

She laughed, shaking her head, and for a second it almost felt normal again. He decided to press on.

"You look tired," he said neutrally.

She stiffened and considered her answer for a long moment. "I've been having nightmares," she said finally, meeting his eyes, "for the past few nights."

"Ah." He didn't know quite how to respond. It was a loaded topic for the two of them. "Right, well at least –"

"Weasley!"

He was cut off by a loud voice, and he broke Ginny's gaze just in time to see Blaise stride right up to her and slap a half-folded newspaper down next to her plate.

"I take it from your calm demeanor that you haven't seen this yet," he said.

"Well good morning to you too, Zabini," she said amusedly, setting down her fork. "Haven't seen what?"

Blaise swung one leg over the bench and sank down. He adjusted the newspaper and slid it into her line of vision. "_This_."

Draco leaned forward to get a better look. It was the _Prophet_, and the headline at the top of Page Six: "_THE CHOSEN ONE FINDS LOVE: RITA SKEETER UNCOVERS ALL THE DETAILS OF HARRY POTTER'S SUMMER ROMANCE!_"

And beneath that were two photos: one of Potter – looking like a wanker, as usual, Draco thought dryly – and another of…. His eyebrows went up to his hairline. _Ginny._

"Oh, bloody hell…." she swore. "How did that half-wit excuse for a reporter even _know_ about our letters?"

"International post has to go through Ministry customs," Blaise replied, running his finger down the page to the bottom of the second column. "Some postal worker saw Potter's name on the envelopes, told Skeeter about it, and…."

"Her Quick Quotes Quill did the rest, I imagine," she finished, rolling her eyes.

Blaise grinned. "Exactly."

"So is it true?" The words were out of Draco's mouth before he'd had time to think about them.

"Of course not," Ginny said shortly. She hardly glanced up – she was too busy skimming the rest of the article – but Blaise looked at him strangely.

"Ready to go, Ginny?"

He glanced up to see Potter lingering a few feet away.

"Ready to go where?" Blaise returned mockingly.

"We're going to the library," Ginny answered before Potter could retort. "Potter, have you seen this?" She handed him the paper.

He frowned and took it. "Oh, bloody hell," he murmured, flushing.

"Exactly what I said."

"That _cow_! I am so sorry, Ginny," he said earnestly, still reading. Draco rolled his eyes and exchanged a significant look with Blaise. Ginny didn't seem to notice.

"Don't be _too_ sorry, Potter," she replied, smiling suddenly. "You could do worse."

Potter laughed aloud. "Right, because – how did Slughorn put it? You're an _exceptional witch_."

"Precisely. Come on," she continued, standing and slinging her bag over her shoulder. "Let's go. Even though we're the _Prophet_'s hottest new couple doesn't mean we can skive off homework."

"If I could skive off work every time someone wrote a lie about me in the gossip column, I'd never have to…."

"See you later, guys," she said over her shoulder as they moved off.

When they were out of hearing range, Blaise swung his other leg over the bench. "Potter is getting on my last fucking nerve," he said, though he was grinning as if the whole thing amused him.

"Weasley likes him," Draco observed.

"Not as much as Skeeter thinks."

Draco glanced over to where Potter and Ginny were just passing through the tall double doors. Potter said something, and Ginny threw her head back and laughed. "You sure about that?" he asked.

Blaise looked at him a little too keenly, and Draco avoided his gaze by taking a long swig of pumpkin juice. "Enough about Potter," he said, setting the glass down with a loud clink. "Who are you considering for Keeper?"

* * *

><p><em>About three months later, late November<em>

"Weasley?"

Ginny started awake. The Common Room was empty and only dimly lit by the fire crackling in the grate beside her.

"Oh hell, what time is it?" she asked, running her palms over her face. She turned to squint at the clock over the fireplace.

"Seven," Blaise replied, sinking down beside her. "Everyone's at dinner."

She relaxed, shifting to lean her back against his side and letting her head fall back onto his shoulder. "Good," she said, yawning, "I've got ten more minutes. I was worried I'd slept right through."

"Through what?" he asked. He flicked his wand and Summoned a copy of the Prophet that someone had left on a table a few feet away.

"Harry and I are going for a fly," she replied.

She could feel him shaking his head, and glanced up at him. "You know," he said, his eyebrows tilting skeptically, "you're doing absolutely nothing to quell these rumors." He folded the paper to a certain page and brandished it significantly. Her eyes skimmed across the headline.

"Another slow news day, I see." She rolled her eyes. Skeeter had been penning articles about her and Harry's "summer fling turned full-fledged romance" since the start of the year, and it didn't look like she would be letting up anytime soon. "She must be really desperate for good material," she said, "I almost feel we should give her this as a form of charity."

"How very philanthropic of you," Blaise returned, smirking.

"Well, you know how deeply I care about the certifiably moronic." She glanced at the clock again, then pushed herself up. "I should get going."

"All right, but if you fall off your broom and break something, I'm going to hex Potter into next week."

"Uncharacteristically sweet, Zabini," she said, raising her eyebrows.

"I'm not worried about _you_. I'm worried about our chances against Ravenclaw in February. If you break every bone in your body I'm going to have to use Urquhart."

"And _there's_ the Blaise I know and love," she said dryly, giving his hair a familiar ruffle as she moved around the sofa. She bounded upstairs to grab her Cleansweep.

* * *

><p>"It was like – like –"<p>

"Exploding out of your skin, right?"

"Yeah." Harry nodded, meeting her eyes for a moment. "Most painful thing I've ever felt."

"It was the same for me. But at least after that he wasn't in my head anymore."

It was an hour and a half later, and they were sitting side-by-side on the pitch, their backs leaning against the base of the bleachers. Ginny's head was tilted back, but she was watching Harry's profile out of the corner of her eyes. He knocked his own head back against the bleacher speculatively.

"Right," he responded finally. "What do you think Rita Skeeter would say if she knew we'd both been possessed by Voldemort?"

She snorted. "The way her articles are going? It would probably mean we're meant to be together or something. I can see the headline – 'Soul Mates Chosen by the Dark Lord.'"

"Rather like Cupid, isn't he?"

She laughed aloud. "All he needs is wings."

"Don't forget the miniature bow and arrow."

They were silent for several long seconds, and then Ginny scooted down so she was lying flat on her back. She crossed her right ankle over her left, and her fingertips played absently with the stalks of grass. A second later, she heard Harry scoot down to lie next to her.

A cold breeze blew over them, and she pulled her hands into the sleeves of her oversized sweater. "Do you ever think about just…leaving?" she asked finally.

"What do you mean?"

She laughed lightly. "Just going to an Apparition point or taking a Muggle train or _anything_ and just leaving all of this – Tom and the Death Eaters and the Ministry and the _Prophet_, all of it – just leaving it behind?"

"You mean running away?"

That made her grin. _Of course_ he'd put it that way. "Exactly."

He was silent for longer than she'd expected. This was Harry Bleedin' Potter, after all, hero extraordinaire. She'd half-expected a big lecture about nobility and Gryffindor courage. She turned her head ninety degrees so that her cheek was resting against the cool grass and watched him. He seemed to actually be considering her question.

"I can't," he said at last, shifting to look back at her.

"Why not?"

He didn't answer, but he didn't look away either.

"Because of Tom?"

"Yeah," he replied, "because of Tom." A hint of amusement tinged his voice when he said the name. She understood why. The single syllable, such a common, unthreatening name, didn't seem to fit _Lord Voldemort_.

"Hell, Harry," she said, "he's not your personal responsibility, you know. You've faced him, what – five times now? I think you've done your bit."

He shook his head. "I haven't, Ginny," he said, and something about the look in his eyes, which were deep green as ivy in the dark, sent a shiver racing up her spine. "I can't really explain it all properly," he continued, "but just believe me on this. I have to finish it, and I can't leave until I do."

She considered pressing the issue. Why _couldn't_ he explain it properly? Why did he look so somber, like he was facing certain death? But she couldn't bring herself to form the question, and after a taut moment, she exhaled in a low whistle. "Merlin, we need Firewhiskey for this conversation."

Harry laughed at that and ran a hand through his hair, which was already a mess across his forehead. "Too grim?"

She smiled and nodded. "Too grim."

"Shall I change the subject?"

"Please."

He thought for a moment. "Why don't we pick apart all the annoying things McLaggen said at the Slug Club dinner last week?" he suggested brightly.

She laughed and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "I love this game."

* * *

><p><em>A month later, December 20th<em>

"Don't worry, mate," Blaise said, smiling widely. "I'll bring you back a slice of cake or something."

"Fuck off," Draco replied, grabbing a cushion off the sofa and throwing it. Blaise dodged it neatly and sank down beside him, still grinning.

"Your tie's crooked," Draco observed.

Blaise glanced down speculatively. "No it's not."

"It is."

"It's not," he insisted.

"Suit yourself."

"Anyway, I only jest," Blaise continued. "I think the only redeeming feature of this bloody Christmas party will be getting access to Slughorn's wine collection."

"Now if you want to bring me back a bottle of _that_…."

Blaise laughed. "I'll see what I can do. What are you going to do all night?"

Draco shrugged. "Read? Demolish Crabbe at chess? If I'm in a particularly bad mood, I might do some extra Prefect rounds and break up some broom cupboard snogs."

"Pathetic," Blaise replied flatly. "You're the oldest sixteen-year-old I know."

"Not all of us have thrilling parties thrown by eighty-year-old professors to attend."

"Touché. You know, if you want to catch people _really_ going at it, I can tell you which broom cupboards to –"

Blaise paused mid-sentence. "To what?" Draco asked. He didn't respond. "Zabini? To –"

He followed his gaze across the Common Room to the girls' staircase, and stopped short. Ginny had just descended and had dropped her heels onto the carpet at her feet. As she stepped into them, Draco's eyes trailed over her and the deep green dress she was wearing. His gaze lingered, despite his best efforts, on the way the dress dipped into a deep-v across her chest and hugged her body to her hips, then fell loosely to the middle of her thighs. Her hair was up in some kind of loose bun, and copper tendrils fell haphazardly around her face.

He felt his breath catch. She'd put in much more effort for this bloody Slug Club Christmas Party than he'd expected.

"…to patrol…." Blaise finished distractedly.

She smiled as she walked over to their sofa. "Looking sharp, Zabini," she commented. "But your tie's crooked."

Draco would have laughed at that if he hadn't been so preoccupied with the question –

"Any particular reason you look so fucking amazing, Weasley?" Zabini asked for him.

She rolled her eyes. "I do like to dress up _sometimes_, you know," she said dryly.

They both gave her a skeptical look.

She sighed theatrically. "Fine. If you must know, Harry asked me to the party tonight."

Draco felt something clench in his chest, which he tried to ignore.

"_Don't_ give me that look," she said, glaring at Blaise, whose eyebrows had disappeared into his hairline. "It's just as friends." She said it so firmly that Draco knew it was rehearsed, as if she'd been trying to convince herself of it for weeks. And as it was, he could tell that she only half believed it.

For one brief second, her eyes flicked to his. But it happened so quickly that he thought he might have imagined it.

His chest clenched again. For fuck's sake –

"Well, I better go," she said. "He's probably waiting outside. See you," she said to Zabini. She turned and met his eyes determinedly. "Night."

"Night," he forced out over something thick that had formed in his throat.

As soon as she had gone, he sank back against the sofa cushion and ran his hands roughly over his face. He had to get a hold of himself.

"Care to explain what the fuck you think you're doing?" Blaise asked suddenly.

He looked up sharply. "_What?_"

"You're being a fucking idiot," he said flatly.

"What are you –"

"Look, Malfoy," he said, sitting forward and looking him straight in the eye. It was almost a glare, and Draco had to force himself not to flinch. "If I bowed out so that she could get with fucking _Potter_, then I swear to Merlin, I will sneak Goyle's hair into every drink you drink for the next five months so that you can spend next term _looking_ like the complete and utter moron that you are."

Draco's eyes widened. "Zabini, I honestly have no idea what you're on about."

Blaise rolled his eyes. "Well why don't you mull on it while I'm gone?" he said testily, standing and grabbing his jacket. He slung it over his shoulder, shot Draco one last significant look, and strode from the room.

Draco sat motionless, a bit numb with shock, for several long minutes after Blaise had left.

_Care to explain what the fuck you're doing?_ _You're being a fucking idiot. If I bowed out so that she could get with fucking _Potter_..._

He thought of every significant look Blaise had given him over the past few months. He'd discerned early in the term that Blaise and Ginny hadn't been snogging each other senseless all summer. He'd concluded that _she_ must have rebuffed _him_, and he'd felt a wave of relief – coupled with a flash of smugness – at that. Blaise had never "bowed out" of anything in his life, and certainly not for someone else's benefit. He wasn't that kind. Apparently Draco had underestimated him.

And apparently he'd underestimated Potter. He'd known the wanker liked Weasley – _everyone_ knew that by now. But some part of him – a part that seemed ridiculously irrational now – had thought he wouldn't dare ask her out. She was _Ginny Weasley_, after all. She was a Slytherin, which he'd thought would be enough to put Potter off all on its own. But she was also blazingly beautiful and bitingly sarcastic, and she had a temper, and she got a twinkle in her eye when she was about to do something she shouldn't….

There was no way in hell Potter could handle her.

For fuck's sake, he didn't even _know_ her. He might think he did, might think that a few Occlumency lessons and late-night conversations was enough. But it wasn't.

Several scenes flashed across Draco's mind: the way he'd read to her until she fell asleep the night they'd come out of the Chamber…her hand sliding into his the night Sirius Black had broken into the castle…the way he'd run back through the panicked crowd to find her at the Quidditch World Cup…their kiss at the Yule Ball…her body warm against his all of those nights she'd slept in his bed…the way she'd pressed her lips against his neck, and the look in her eyes just before he kissed her….

Then he thought of the uncomfortable tightness in his chest that he felt whenever he saw her with Potter. He thought of all of those times he'd watched her with Ives…he'd gotten the same feeling then, the same unavoidable jealousy.

His mind racing, he pushed himself off the sofa and crossed the Common Room. He strode out into the dungeons and found himself speeding up as he went up the staircase – he took them two at a time, turned the corner, moved down another hall. By the time he got to the right floor and was close enough to hear the sounds of the party filtering out into the corridor, he was nearly running.

Ginny didn't belong with Potter, just as she hadn't belonged with Ives and just as she didn't belong with Blaise. But it was more than that. She didn't belong with _anyone_ else.

She belonged with him.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Sorry for the eternal wait – as I said, I'm really bogged down with work these days. I can't wait to hear what you think of this chapter. It's definitely an important one. So PLEASE REVIEW!


	28. Belonging

**Author's Note:** Just to clarify – Draco is not currently working on the cabinet. I've tried to hint that Voldemort has other plans in motion at the moment. But Draco's mission _is_ coming soon. Also, a reminder that this story is RATED M. This chapter, and several future ones, will contain sexual situations.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 28: Belonging<strong>

The party was already in full swing when they arrived. Slughorn's office was draped with heavy, deep-colored hangings, which gave the illusion that they had left the castle altogether and stepped into some sort of ornate tent. A dozen or so House-elves roamed the room with enormous trays of hors d'oeuvres and flutes of champagne and pale pink punch, and in one corner, Ginny spotted a long table displaying some of Slughorn's best wines.

Her eyes scanned over the crowd. She saw a few Slug Club members, including Flora and Hestia, who were standing in one corner. She made a mental note to go talk to them later. And there were several professors – she saw Professor Trelawney swinging her glass around drunkenly and trying to talk to an irritated-looking Professor Snape – but the rest were adults that Ginny didn't recognize.

Harry turned to her, eyebrows raised. "This is really –" he began.

"Harry, my boy! And the lovely Ginny!" Slughorn's booming voice echoed across the room, and the man himself made a bee-line for the entrance. He pushed himself between them and swung his arms around their shoulders. "There are some _very_ interesting people here that I want you to meet."

Ginny glanced sidelong at Harry, who shot her a look that was half-amusement, half-alarm. She had to stifle a laugh, and he grinned.

Slughorn steered them toward a group of three men. "Harry, Ginny, this is Eldred Worple, a former student of mine and now a simply _brilliant_ writer, I think everyone can agree."

Worple smiled broadly and shook their hands. Ginny noticed that he gripped Harry's particularly hard. "Mr. Potter, I am absolutely _delighted_ to meet you!" he said, his eyes practically watering with enthusiasm, "I've actually been bandying around an idea for a new book, a biography of sorts, and I was wondering –"

"Now, now, Eldred," Slughorn interrupted, shaking his head like he was speaking to a small child, "let's save your pitch for after I've finished the introductions, shall we?"

Worple looked suitably embarrassed, and Slughorn continued. "This is Eldred's good friend – Sanguini, is it?"

The tall, rail-thin man next to Worple inclined his head slightly, but his eyes were fixed on Ginny. Her brow furrowed. He took her hand and brought it slowly to his lips. "It is a pleasure to meet you," he said. His voice was smooth and silky, but it had a strange inflection that she couldn't place. "May I say," he continued, "you look exceedingly lovely tonight." Then he smiled, showing pointed canines, and Ginny felt her spine tingle – a vampire.

Worple laughed nervously and shoved a pasty off a nearby tray into his friend's hands. "You must forgive Sanguini, my dear," he said. "He seems quite taken with you." His eyes darted to Harry, as if he was worried he might fly into a jealous rage.

"She has such wonderful, unblemished, pale skin," Sanguini said defensively, sounding almost petulant.

Ginny nearly laughed. "Your skin's quite nice too, sir," she replied with a smile. Beside her, Harry snorted.

"And _this_," Slughorn cut in, sounding triumphant as he gestured to the third member of the group – a squat man, wearing spectacles a little too large for his face, "is Polonius Pond, the Daily Prophet editor I was telling you about. He has been overseeing the delightful series of articles about the two of you that have kept us all in raptures!"

Harry nearly choked, then coughed loudly to try to cover it up. Ginny just managed to stifle another bout of laughter and held out her hand. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Pond," she said sweetly.

"The pleasure is all mine, Miss Weasley," Pond said, smiling broadly.

"Well, I'll let you all get acquainted," Slughorn said, beaming. He moved off, and beside her, Harry recovered himself and held out his own hand to Pond.

"I trust that the two of you have been impressed by Miss Skeeter's work?" the man said. "It's quite rare to find someone so skilled at turns of phrase." He chuckled. "But then again, she's really quite an old hat at these sorts of articles."

"Well, she's quite an old _something_," Ginny said.

Harry barked out a laugh and Pond looked confused. "What?"

"Nothing at all," she said, still smiling.

Pond relaxed again. "As I was saying, I trust you're impressed by her impeccable writing style?"

"Yes," Harry put in, nodding soberly, "and by her accuracy. She must have dozens of investigators, fact-checkers…that sort of thing?"

Pond was still smiling, but he shifted uncomfortably. "Oh, yes, dozens."

"Well, we simply cannot _wait_ for them to discover our latest bit of news," Ginny said.

Harry glanced at her, but she kept her gaze fixed on Pond, thoroughly enjoying the way his eyes widened in anticipation.

"And what would that be?" he asked, his fingers twitching toward his breast pocket, where he was obviously carrying a notebook.

"Well, we don't want to spoil the surprise, now do we, Ginny?" Harry cut in smoothly. She grinned at him, taking a moment to appreciate how quickly he caught on to her little schemes.

She looped her arm through his and sighed theatrically. "It does seem a shame," she mused. "It would probably sell thousands and _thousands_ of papers."

By now, Pond was practically drooling. He licked his lips. She waited just a moment more, then sighed again. "I _suppose_ you're right," she said.

She paused, then smiled brightly. "Well, so nice to meet all of you!"

And then she and Harry walked away, leaving Polonius Pond looking like they'd just cancelled Christmas.

As soon as they were out of earshot, they dissolved into laughter.

"That was _brilliant_!" Harry said. He grabbed two flutes of punch off a passing tray and handed one to her.

"Although, you know he's going to send Skeeter digging for our big secret, and when she doesn't find one…."

"She'll make it up," Ginny finished, rolling her eyes. "I know." She grinned and took a swig of her drink. "It was worth it, though – for the look on his face. Anyway, I'm rather excited to see what she'll come up with."

Harry laughed and shook his head. "You're really something, Ginny Weasley." He tipped back his own flute.

She had a thought, and her grin widened. "Care to make a wager?"

"About what?" he asked, arching an eyebrow at her.

"What she'll write, of course.

He laughed again, then met her eyes, considering. "I'll go with engagement," he said finally.

She shook her head. "Pregnancy. _Much_ more scandalous."

Harry snorted, then shot her a cheeky grin. "I didn't think you were that kind of girl, Weasley," he teased.

"Which is exactly why it's so scandalous," she returned, grinning back.

"Mr. Potter! Mr. Potter!"

They turned. "Oh, bloody hell," Harry groaned. Eldred Worple was weaving through the crowd toward them, waving an arm over his head to get Harry's attention.

"Probably wants to get your permission to write that biography," Ginny observed amusedly. She took another swig of punch.

"Oh, right, laugh it up, Weasley," Harry grumbled. "You do realize that if I get stuck rejecting his book proposal for the next half hour, you're going to be right here with me."

By now, Worple was nearly to them. Harry grabbed her hand. "Come on." He pulled her away from Worple and wove around several groups of guests. "Keep your head down," he said.

Ginny laughed. "You are absolutely terrible at this," she teased. His glare only made her laugh harder. "You know," she continued as he tried to maneuver them between a very large woman wearing voluminous robes and the far wall, "your Invisibility Cloak has apparently become a real crutch. Without it, you can't hide for your life."

"_Shhh_," Harry said, trying to smother his own laughter. He tugged her around another group, glanced back to make sure Worple wasn't looking, and then pulled her out of the room altogether. He guided her down to a small alcove at the end of the corridor before he let go of her hand. "There. He won't find us now, will he?"

She shrugged noncommittally, a smile playing around her lips.

He rolled his eyes. "So little faith."

"But what will we do for drinks?" she challenged, swirling the remains of pink liquid around her glass.

"Infiltration missions," he deadpanned, and she laughed aloud.

They were silent for a moment, and Ginny leaned back against the stone window ledge to her right, propping her elbows up behind her. She let her head fall back slightly, and sighed. Suddenly, she heard Harry take a step toward her, and felt him take the champagne flute from where it dangled from her fingers.

She met his eyes quizzically as he set it down beside his own glass on the ledge. "What?" she asked, straightening a little.

He exhaled determinedly. "I like you, Ginny…a lot." He was closer than before, his expression much more sober, and her heart began to pound in her chest. She knew what was about to happen, and she felt a panic she hadn't expected well up in her throat just before he leaned in…and kissed her.

He was good at this. She could tell that immediately, and she wondered where he'd learned. He hadn't told her about any girls, and they were close enough that he _would_ have told her, wouldn't he? But he was Harry Potter – _the _Harry Potter, she realized. There had been dozens of girls drooling over him all year.

Her stomach dropped. Any one of those girls would kill to be right here, being kissed by Harry Potter, who was kind and funny and a really, really good at this.

But all she could think about was the fact that his fingers should be tangling in the hair just behind her ear. His other hand should be pressed against the small of her back, and he should be slightly taller, and lankier. And he should taste a bit like mint….

He pulled away slightly, and she met his eyes – they were deep green, and full of something that made her hate that she wasn't one of those dozens of girls. She swallowed.

"I'm sorry, Harry," she breathed. "I –"

Suddenly, Harry's body was jerked away from her, and she only barely had time to register blonde hair and a dark shirt before a fist collided with his jaw.

"Draco!" she yelled, launching herself forward. "What are you –"

Harry had reeled back against the wall, but in a split second, he was upright, wand in hand.

"Harry, wait," Ginny said quickly, whirling on Draco. "What are you _doing_?" she demanded, pushing him back by his shoulders to put some space between him and Harry.

He stepped back willingly enough, breathing hard. His eyes were blazing, but they were fixed on _her_. "Gin," he said flatly, "we need to talk."

Something about the way he said it gave her pause, but then her chest exploded with frustration. "Yeah, we do," she snapped. "About what exactly you think you're doing. But not right now, because right now I have to make sure you haven't broken Harry's jaw with a random act of violence."

"He hasn't," Harry said darkly from behind her.

Draco's eyes flashed, but didn't leave hers. "We need to talk, all right?" he repeated through gritted teeth.

"Fine," she said, and she heard the sharp edge in her own voice. He didn't move. "Draco, I swear to Merlin –"

His gaze flicked past her to Harry, then back, and then he turned on his heel and disappeared back down the corridor. She waited until he rounded the corner before turning back to Harry. Her heart was running riot in her chest.

"Bloody hell, Harry," she said. "I'm so sorry."

He pocketed his wand and rubbed his palm experimentally along his jaw. He winced. "You should have let me hex him," he grumbled, scowling.

"Don't worry, I'll be hexing him later," she replied.

The slightest of smiles ghosted across his lips, but he sobered again in an instant. "Not exactly the way I envisioned this evening going," he said, and somehow she knew he wasn't _just_ referring to Draco's punch.

She thought of the kiss and cringed. "I'm sorry about that too," she said. "I know it must have seemed like I was leading you on or –"

"I thought what everyone was saying about you and Malfoy was just rumors," he said, and she heard a thread of accusation in his voice. Merlin, did he think…?

"I'm not going out with him!" she said quickly. "No, it's not about him. It's about –"

She thought of Draco's fingers in her hair and his hand on her back and the way he tasted like mint….

"– something else," she finished lamely.

"Right," Harry said, brow furrowed. He ran a hand through his hair, shook himself, then turned to consider her, expression serious. She felt like he was looking straight into her mind, and she had to force herself to hold his gaze. "Ginny," he said finally, "it's –"

"Harry, _there_ you are!" He started, and she turned to see Hermione coming toward them, looking frazzled. "I have been looking all – Merlin, what _happened_?"

She rushed forward, her heels clacking loudly against the floor, and tilted Harry's head bodily to one side to get a better look at his jaw, where a bruise was already darkening along his jawline.

"Malfoy happened," he said. "Ow! Bloody hell, Hermione."

"Malfoy?" She slapped his hand away and continued observing the bruise from different angles.

"I should go," Ginny said.

Harry put his hands on Hermione's shoulders so that she paused in her fussing. "Okay, Ginny," he said, meeting her eyes again. "We'll talk later, yeah?"

She nodded and forced a smile. "Yeah, sure."

Then she turned and headed down the corridor. She had someone else to talk to – and _hex_, if she got her way – first.

* * *

><p>Draco rubbed his hands roughly over his face, then reached up to grip the mantelpiece so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He leaned his head against his extended arm. Every muscle in his body was taut, and he found that he couldn't stand still. He slapped his hand against the wood in frustration.<p>

He'd gotten to the corridor outside Slughorn's office, heard Potter's voice, seen him kiss her…and completely lost it. To realize that Weasley should be _his_ after all this time, and then to lose her to _Potter_ at the very last moment –

"Malfoy, what's wrong with you?" Daphne asked wonderingly from a ring of sofas nearby, where she was sitting with Pansy, Crabbe, and Goyle.

"You look like you've had a stroke," Pansy put in, giving him a look of concern that he knew from experience was complete bullshit.

"You have no idea what a stroke is, do you, Parkinson?" he snapped.

She flushed and opened her mouth to retort, but was interrupted by the sound of someone storming down the Common Room corridor.

Ginny appeared from around the corner. Her bun had loosened, and a mess of copper strands glowed around her neck in the dim light from the wall sconces behind her. Her eyes, which were blazing with fury, found him immediately. "What the _fuck_, Malfoy?" she said loudly.

The heads of every person in the Common Room darted between them. She started toward him, but he crossed the room faster and grabbed her by the arm. "Are you and Potter together?" he hissed.

She shot him a look. "_No_, we're not," she snapped. "Have you _completely_ lost your mind?"

He felt a heady relief course through his body, but then she pulled bodily from his grasp, dragging him back to reality. He set his jaw. "Yeah," he said darkly, grabbing her arm again and pulling her toward the entrance. "Yeah, I think I have."

Over her protests, he half-dragged her out of the Common Room, up the dungeon stairs, down several corridors. He didn't know where they were going, really. He just knew that they needed to talk – somewhere they wouldn't be interrupted.

Finally, in the middle of a deserted hallway somewhere on the sixth floor, or maybe it was the seventh, she'd had enough. She ground them to a halt and yanked away from him. "What the hell is wrong with you, Malfoy?" she yelled.

His heart was pounding in his ears, and every muscle in his body was tense. He couldn't remember ever being this agitated, this on edge.

"What makes you think," she demanded, "that you can just walk up and punch my _date_ in the face?"

Draco felt a flash of annoyance at the word. "You don't belong with him," he said flatly.

Whatever she'd been expecting him to say, that was obviously not it. She swallowed whatever words had been on the edge of her tongue and stared at him for a second, all of the air going out of the rant she'd obviously worked up over the past few minutes.

Then suddenly, she rolled her eyes and tipped her head back to bark out a mirthless laugh. "Oh, Merlin, you have _got_ to be kidding me," she groaned. "I am so tired of you keeping tabs on me like I can't fucking take care of myself. _Stop_ acting like you're my older brother, and just –"

Now it was his turn to bark out a laugh. "Trust me, Ginny. I do _not_ want to be your brother."

That silenced her again, and this time he watched something like understanding flash across her features. He ran agitated hands over his face and barreled forward. "Why aren't we together, Gin?"

"What are you talking about?" she asked testily, gesturing between them. He could tell that she was stalling. "We _are _together."

"No, _together_ together," he insisted.

"Maybe because we've hardly spoken in six months," she retorted.

"Don't tell me they haven't been miserable for you, too."

"Yeah," she replied. "They've been shit. But it doesn't change the fact that after what happened, you were a lousy friend, Draco."

He made a frustrated sound. "You know what?" he said, his fingers clenching into fists, "you're right. I was a lousy friend, and I'm sorry. I panicked, and I thought that if I acted like it wasn't a big deal then it wouldn't be – and we could go back to being just friends and there wouldn't be any consequences at all. I thought we could save our friendship. But you know what I realized, Ginny? Just now?"

He looked her right in the eyes. "What?" she asked. She crossed her arms over her chest like she was still angry, but her voice was hoarse around the word.

"We've never been _just friends_, the two of us," he continued. "We were enemies, and then we were allies, and then you were in that fucking Chamber and before I knew it, I couldn't have a thought without telling you about it, and then I didn't even _have_ to tell you, because you already knew."

He paused, breathing hard, and ran his hands over his face again. He realized that he must look like he really _had _lost his mind, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

He met her gaze, watched her flinch, and knew the some of the fierceness he felt must be reflected in his eyes. "There isn't a word, Gin – not even a cheesy, trite one – that describes what you are to me, and I was a fucking idiot to think that we could ruin our _just _friendship, because you can't ruin what doesn't exist, and you sure as hell can't save it."

She exhaled slowly. "Draco," she breathed, not looking away, "it's not that simple…."

He felt a bubble of laughter well up inside him. "Thank Merlin for that," he interrupted. "If it was simple, you'd be a Gamp, or a Greengrass, or a_ Parkinson_. Luckily, you're not. _So what_ if my parents hate you, and the feeling's entirely mutual? When you find what we have, you have to take the fucking hint and stop looking."

He fell silent, still breathing hard, and waited for her to respond. His mouth was dry, and he could hear his heartbeat loud in his ears, pounding out the seconds as they passed.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, a hint of a smile ghosted over her lips. "We've never been very good at taking hints, have we?" she whispered.

He exhaled, his chest filling with something warm – maybe relief, maybe something more. "No," he agreed, smiling back. And in two strides he crossed the space between them, grasped her face between his hands, and met her eyes. "No more looking," he said, and then he bent his head and kissed her.

* * *

><p>"Here," he managed to say, his voice thick and hoarse. He tore himself away from her for just long enough to think of what they needed, and then to push open the door to the Room of Requirement. Her lips found his again as they stumbled over the threshold.<p>

There was a dull thud and a click as he pressed her back against the door, and he pushed the length of his body up against hers with enough force that she gasped. In the next moment, her tongue swept into his mouth, and now he groaned, tasting something sweet and tart all at once, like fruit. His fingers tangled into the hair at the back of her head and his other palm slipped around to the small of her back to pull her closer. She laughed a little against his lips.

"What?" he managed breathlessly.

"Don't worry about it, Malfoy," she breathed back, and even in the dimness of the room, which was lit only by the flickering light of a fire in the grate, he could make out the challenging glint in her eyes. He laughed lightly and captured her mouth once more.

She reached between them for the buttons of his shirt, and he groaned again at the back of his throat as her fingertips began to brush against his skin, lower and lower, until finally they were all undone and she shoved the fabric off his shoulders. He shifted out of it, his lips never leaving hers as it fell to the ground with a soft sound.

The half-crazed agitation he'd felt earlier was morphing into something else. He was incredibly warm, and there was a dizzying kind of heat pooling at the base of his stomach. And his whole body was humming with need – to keep tasting her and touching her and to feel her skin against his –

He ran his palm from her back around her body to grip her hip through the silky fabric of her dress, and then – he couldn't have controlled his body if he'd wanted to – he ground himself against her, up against the wall. The pressure made him see white, and she moaned, her head falling back slightly.

He did it again, the palm at the back of her head coming up to brace against the wood of the door above her head, and then he slid his other hand all the way up her back to fumble at the zipper of her dress.

He hissed as her lips found the pulse point of his neck. Her fingers were running across the bare skin of his back, across his sides, up his chest, and now they were toying with his belt buckle, and he shifted to press her across the room toward the bed.

"Ginny," he breathed, sliding the zipper of her dress halfway down. It was a half-question, but Merlin, he _wanted_ her, and if she told him to stop now –

She met his eyes, brown on grey, and deliberately held his gaze as she undid his belt buckle. His breath caught, and he felt a jolt of desire pulse straight through his body.

He pulled the zipper all the way down, ran his hands up her sides once more so the fabric bunched beneath his fingers, then slid the dress off her shoulders. It fell to the ground in a pool of green satin.

"Ginny…." he breathed.

But he couldn't finish his thought, because her lips crashed into his in a fierce kiss. And she was fumbling at the button of his pants, then pushing them over his hips, and suddenly the heat was overwhelming and he was pressing her down onto the bed. His body bucked against hers, and there was less fabric and more friction, and it was almost unbearably _good_, and –

"_Merlin_, Draco, _please_," she moaned, and _Gods_, he didn't think he'd ever wanted anything as much as he wanted her right now.

She pushed down the fabric of his boxers, and he slid her knickers down her legs, and when he finally pressed into her, his fingers fisted in the sheets and he groaned hard against the skin of her neck. "_Fuck_, Gin…."

It took every ounce of self-control he possessed to hold himself still until her harsh and halting breaths slowed to normal, and she murmured that he should keep going. And moments later when she gasped that he shouldn't stop and captured his lips with hers, he knew he couldn't if he'd wanted to. Her palms were running hard lines up and down his back, and she was gasping his name over and over into his ear, and soon it was all too much, and he was groaning, "Ginny" and a litany of words that he couldn't understand into the crook of her neck and hurtling blindly, maddeningly over the edge.

* * *

><p>It was hours later; he didn't know exactly how long. After the frenzied, frantic, almost <em>desperation<em> of that first time, they had come together again, and this time he had made sure she enjoyed it as much as he did. And then they had fallen into easy conversation, talking and laughing about everything they had missed over the past six months. _Merlin_, he'd missed just _talking _her.

Now they were curled together beneath the bed sheets, their faces pressed close.

His fingertips skimmed along her shoulder, down the length of her arm to the elbow, then down her side and over the curve of her hip; his eyes traced their path, and he wondered at the way she nearly glowed in the flickering firelight that filtered through the sheet.

"Draco?" she whispered.

"Mm?" He skimmed his palm back up her body, reveling in the warmth and smoothness of her bare skin.

"What are we going to do?"

He met her eyes, brows raised. "Be together, of course," he replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Merlin, woman," he said, rolling his eyes and shifting so he was above her, propped up by his elbows on either side of her head, "do I have to make that bloody speech all over again?"

She gave him a soft shove. "Fuck off," she laughed. "I'm trying to give you an out, you git."

"I don't want an out," he replied. "I'm in lo –"

"I'm a big girl, you know," she cut in, shooting him a skeptical look. "You don't have to say that just because we –"

"For fuck's sake, Gin," he said with an exasperated laugh. "Do _you_ want an out?"

She swallowed, then shook her head. "No. Not even a little." Her voice had quieted back to a murmur, and he grinned, shaking his head.

"Good," he replied, lowering his voice to match hers. "Neither do I, so stop trying to give me one." He threaded his fingers in her hair and turned her head so he could look her full in the eyes.

"I love you," he whispered.

She exhaled, and he wondered if she had been holding her breath, and then she smiled and cupped his face in her palms. She pulled him down to her, and just before their lips met, she whispered four words back. "I love you, too."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Finally! This was definitely a chapter I was looking forward to writing from the beginning. Now might be a good time to go back and re-read the prologue ;) However, they still have plenty of trials ahead, so stay tuned!

Please take the time to review. As I've said before, only a fraction of you ever bothers, and reviews mean a lot to me. So make me happy and give me your thoughts!


	29. Choosing Sides

**Author's Note:** I am beyond amazed to have reached over a THOUSAND reviews! You guys are incredible. Thank you, thank you, thank you to each and every one of you who has taken the time to read this story. And now, onward!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 29: Choosing Sides<strong>

Ginny woke slowly. The room was bathed in pale, winter sunlight, which was filtering in from a window that she hadn't noticed last night. She hadn't noticed much of _anything_ about the room last night, she thought wryly. She flushed. She'd been a bit…distracted.

She was on her side, her head resting against the warmth of Draco's chest. His left arm encircled her, his fingertips tangled in the loose mess of her hair. She could feel his heartbeat thrumming a slow, steady rhythm beneath her cheek.

She blinked, felt the ends of her eyelashes brush against his skin. They'd slept together, and more than that, said all of those things about being together and being in _love_. She waited, expecting panic to well up in her chest at the realization. Or at least some uncertainty, some regret at the crazy recklessness of it all.

But she didn't feel any of that. She felt strangely…normal. Except for the fact that Draco's bare skin was pressed against hers all along their bodies, this morning was just like all the other mornings when he'd let her sneak into his bed. And he'd been doing that for ages. _Merlin_, he'd been right, hadn't he? The two of them never _had_ been just friends.

The thought was oddly comforting, and even a little funny. She found herself smiling.

Beside her, Draco stirred. She tilted her head up to see him blinking the sleep from his eyes, and then he met her gaze. A smile ghosted over his lips, and he opened his mouth to say something, shifting his body to face her. But his movement dislodged the blankets, and she cringed as cold air rushed between them.

"_Fuck_, it's freezing!" he cursed, breaking the silence. "You would think this bloody room would keep the fire going," he added tersely. "It _is_ called the Room of _Requirement_, after all."

Ginny couldn't help herself. She burst into laughter. It _was_ freezing, and the fire _was_ dead in the grate, but…. _Gods_, some things never changed, did they? She was surprisingly elated at the thought. He was still Draco, and she was still Ginny, and they were still the same sort of not-just-friends they'd always been.

She rolled farther onto her right and pressed her face into his side to smother her laughter.

"What?" he demanded. That only made her laugh harder. "Stop moving, Weasley. You're making it worse!" he added as more freezing air rushed in.

"Typical," she managed, gasping for air. "_Typical_ Malfoy."

He made a huffing sound and a moment later sat up and reached over the side of the bed. Between her own giggles, she heard him fumbling for his wand amidst the pile of clothing crumpled on the floor. He murmured the spell to bring the fire springing to life, then tossed his wand back down with a clatter and pulled the blankets back up around his chin.

"Now," he said, settling onto his own side to face her and chucking her beneath the chin. She managed to swallow another bout of laughter, and met his eyes. He was really _trying_ for a stern expression, but his lips were tilting up at the corners, and she could hear the usual thread of amusement in his voice. "What, pray tell, is so _typical Malfoy_ about not wanting to freeze to death?" He draped his right arm around her and arched an eyebrow expectantly.

She cleared her throat, still trying to keep herself from dissolving back into hysterics. "Your first observation on a romantic morning-after _would_ be about the inadequacy of the room, wouldn't it?"

"Well," he said. "_Someone_ has to point these things out." He twirled a few flyaway strands of her hair absent-mindedly around his fingers.

"And you _do_ have quite a talent for pointing out inadequacies," she quipped, rolling her eyes.

"Exactly." He tucked her hair behind her ear, and grasped her chin again, leaning closer. He grinned wickedly. "I've had to put up with _you_ for four years, and practice makes perfect."

She barked out a shocked laugh. "Hey! Fuck you," she returned, punching him hard on the arm.

He glared. "No manners whatsoever," he replied, shaking his head but then leaning closer. "Typical Weasley."

She grinned and opened her mouth to retort, but then he closed to space between them and kissed her smile.

And she couldn't for the life of her remember what she'd been about to say.

* * *

><p>It was mid-afternoon by the time they dragged themselves out of bed and back into their clothes. The hall outside the Room of Requirement was deserted, but as they made their way down subsequent staircases, the corridors got more and more crowded. Circles of students were gathered in the alcoves and against the walls. She overheard one group chatting about holiday plans and another exchanging early Christmas gifts.<p>

She'd forgotten that the Express was taking everyone home for the holidays early tomorrow morning. She'd put her name down to stay, but she knew Draco and Blaise were both leaving. She'd actually been looking forward to having some time away from Draco's coolness, but now….

Draco slid his palm into the small of her back and leaned close to her ear. "You should have put more effort into that dress," he murmured amusedly. "I don't think it's drawing _enough_ attention."

She glanced around. He was right – people were turning and whispering as they passed – and Ginny realized that her green cocktail dress stuck out like a sore thumb. Anyone with half a brain would know she'd gone to Slughorn's party last night and hadn't been back to the dungeons since.

She snorted. "Well, I did my best," she replied. "But my neon pink sweater – you know, the one that says 'I spent the whole night having fantastic sex and never got back to my dormitory'? It's in the wash."

He chuckled under his breath. "Shame. I would've liked everyone to know the sex was fantastic."

"Don't let your head swell _too_ much," she replied, shooting him a cheeky grin. "We may have to chalk my flattery up to inexperience. I don't have anything else to compare it to."

"Neither do I," he laughed. "But trust me, Weasley, I don't need experience to know." He slung his arm around her shoulders and planted a familiar kiss in her hair. "It was fantastic."

The whispering in the corridors was nothing compared to the dead silence that greeted them in the Slytherin Common Room. Nearly forty students were downstairs, draped across the sofas and talking animatedly, but all conversation ground to a halt as soon as they appeared at the end of the entrance corridor. Ginny knew immediately that the tale of their confrontation last night had spread through the House like wildfire.

But she just set her jaw and crossed her arms defiantly over her chest. She narrowed her eyes slightly, just _daring_ anyone to make a comment. She'd Bat Bogeyed Urquhart months ago, but she knew the memory of his writhing body was still fresh in everyone's mind.

After another beat of silence, she spotted Blaise at their usual ring of sofas, chatting with some Fourth Year girl she vaguely recognized. She strode over, Draco at her side. As they approached, Blaise waved the girl away, and they sank down in her place.

"So," he said nonchalantly as the conversation started back up around them. "Hexing or shagging?"

Ginny's eyebrows went up. "What?"

He shot her a look that said quite clearly that she was a bit dim. "Did you spend the whole night hexing each other or shagging each other?" he said.

Draco snorted. "The latter."

"The latter," Ginny agreed. She shrugged. "Though it was a close thing."

Then, for the briefest of moments, they sat there, and none of them said anything more, and the sudden, half-crazy thought that maybe Blaise wouldn't take this well flashed across her mind.

But then he rolled his eyes skyward. "Fucking _finally_," he said, shaking his head wearily. Ginny could see the corners of his lips tilting into a smile, and she felt a rush of affection for him. "I was considering locking you in a broom cupboard. How you both made Prefect I'll never know, seeing as how you're clearly complete morons."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Thanks a lot, mate." It was sarcastic, she knew, but she heard something else in his tone, and in the way he met Blaise's eyes, that made her wonder….

"You're welcome," Blaise said, and now she was sure there was something else beneath the words – Draco really _was _thanking him. She wondered for what, and she considered asking, but then thought better of it.

"Oh, before I forget…." Blaise said. He stretched to reach over the side of the sofa, dug in his bag for a moment, and retrieved an envelope. He tossed it over her to Draco. "This came for you at breakfast."

"Ares gave _my_ mail to _you_?" he asked, brow furrowing.

"He didn't just give it to me – he _forced_ it on me," Blaise replied. "When he saw you weren't there, he just kept pecking at my sleeve until I took it."

Ginny saw that Draco's name was written in spidery, black script on the front. But that was all. There was no indication of who had sent it or from where. He flipped it over. The seal was broken.

"So the obvious thing to do was to open it?" Draco asked, arching an amused eyebrow in Blaise's direction.

"Of course I opened it," he replied matter-of-factly. "What could be so important that Ares would rather give the letter to me than wait until you got home tomorrow?"

Draco rolled his eyes.

"Waste of time, though," Blaise continued, "There's an _Arcana verba_ on it, which of course only made me _more_ interested." Now, Ginny's eyebrows went up. Draco flipped the envelope open and pulled out the single sheet of parchment inside. He unfolded it. To Ginny's eyes, it was blank, but Draco's fingers began to trail down the page as he read the enchanted words – words that only he could see.

Blaise was still speaking. "I was honestly worried that Weasley had killed you last night and I'd never get to find out what it –"

He broke off. Draco had gone completely white.

"Draco…what is it?" Ginny asked.

He didn't respond. "Draco," she repeated, more harshly this time. She put a hand on his arm. "Who –"

Draco grabbed her arm and pulled her off the sofa. "Is there anyone in the dormitory?" he asked Blaise. His tone was different than it had been, hard and edged.

"What?"

"_Is there anyone in the dormitory?_" he repeated sharply.

"No," Blaise responded. "Malfoy, what's going –"

"I have to speak to Ginny alone," Draco cut in. "I'll explain later."

As if by instinct, Ginny felt her heart begin to pound hard in her chest. The easy contentment of this morning evaporated in an instant. "What is it?" she murmured again, suddenly incredibly afraid of the answer.

She knew something must be terribly, terribly wrong, and so she didn't protest further as he pulled her up the boys' staircase and into his empty dormitory. When the door was shut behind them, with a Silencing Charm thrown at its frame, he whirled to face her.

"What's wrong?" she whispered.

"It's from Bellatrix," he said. "The Dark Lord…." He hesitated.

She felt her insides turn to ice. "Tom wants to see you?" she said, filling in the words for him.

He met her eyes, and she could read the fear in them. "Not me, Gin." he said. "He wants to see _you_."

* * *

><p>It was like a scene from her nightmares.<p>

The long dinner table was gone, and the dining room felt emptier and colder than before. Ginny hadn't thought that was possible. It was bare but for the chandeliers dangling from the ceiling and the long-dead Malfoys leering down at her from their frames.

Narcissa Malfoy stood, head bowed, in the far corner. Beside her were two thickset men, both with small, bright, beady eyes. Ginny recognized one of them from the newspapers: Rodolphus Lestrange. She wondered who the other one was.

Bellatrix was closer, near where the head of the dinner table had been. Somehow, she wasn't what Ginny had expected. There was something about her smile, which jarred so harshly with the cold, calculating glint in her black eyes, that the images in the Prophet hadn't captured.

And beside her, swathed in black robes and holding his wand loosely in long, bone-white fingers, was Tom. There was a long, thick snake coiled a few feet away, and as she and Draco entered, two sets of reptilian eyes flicked to them. Ginny's stomach roiled with fear. She forced her hands into fists and dug her nails deep into her palms.

But the worst thing, the absolute _worst_ thing, the thing that made the bile rise in her throat, was the man crumpled on the ground at Tom's feet. His limbs were splayed out in unnatural directions – his right knee stuck out at a horrible angle. There were long, ragged cuts all over his clothing, and the tiles around him…. Ginny shut her eyes tight and swallowed, trying to steel herself. The tiles around him were slick with blood.

There was so much of it…tiles and tiles of it…that she knew that he – whoever he was – must be dead.

"Ah, finally." Tom broke the silence, and she forced herself to meet his red eyes. A brief pause, and then his thin lips split into an amused smile. She knew he had read her thoughts. He was an incredibly talented Legilimens, far better than Snape or Harry could ever hope to be. The thought made her stomach roll again, and she pressed her fingernails harder into her palms. "Vladimir Hammer, Miss Weasley," he said, "and as you can see…."

He flicked his wand slightly and Hammer's limbs twitched. The man let out a low, awful moan. Ginny cringed.

"…he is not, in fact, dead." Tom considered the man thoughtfully. "It is really very interesting," he continued. "The body can…" he paused, arranged his fingers in a rude approximation of the man's limbs, "…contort itself into the most amazing positions when it is experiencing excruciating pain."

The man's moan became a sort of gurgle, as if he was trying to scream but couldn't get the sound out past a well of liquid…. Ginny felt the sudden urge to vomit, but just then Draco stepped slightly closer so that his fingertips brushed against her wrist, just beneath the long sleeves of the sweater she'd thrown on before they left the castle. She shut her eyes for a moment, focusing on warmth of his skin against hers, and exhaled.

When she opened her eyes again, they focused on Rodolphus, who was watching them keenly. His gaze flicked from Draco's face, to the place where they were touching, and back, and she saw the tiniest hint of a smile flash across his face.

But she didn't have time to think about what his expression meant, because finally, Tom let his wand fall back to his side, and the gurgling stopped. He turned his red gaze back to her.

"I was beginning to think you were intentionally ignoring my summons," he said. "But no matter. We have much to discuss." He paused, considering her, before he continued. "You did me quite a service, Miss Weasley, when you hexed that overeager, grasping woman…." He gestured vaguely.

"Umbridge, my Lord," Bellatrix volunteered. "Dolores Umbridge."

Tom ignored her. "If you hadn't gotten her out of the way, Potter would have never made it to our little…gathering at the Ministry."

Ginny had thought of that before, the night all of it had happened. If she hadn't hexed Umbridge, Harry wouldn't have left the castle at all. Umbridge would have _Crucio_'d him…he would have been in pain and would probably have given up Sirius's name eventually…. But Sirius would still be alive.

Tom was speaking again. "Ever since we were introduced at Lucius's little Ministry party two summers ago, I have been wondering how best to use you."

Ginny felt a flash of defiance. She grit her teeth. "I wasn't aware that I was…available for use," she said.

Tom smiled. "Well, you were certainly available four years ago when you wrote in my diary," he replied. "I don't think I need to remind you how poorly you served me in that instance."

"No, you don't," she agreed wryly. "I remember."

"I have decided to be charitable, Miss Weasley. I'm giving you the opportunity to redeem yourself."

"How very…generous of you."

Tom smiled again. Clearly, her thinly-veiled sarcasm amused him. "So to business," he said after a moment, his tone suddenly harsher, less silky. "For months now, Albus Dumbledore has been digging into my past, unearthing things that I would rather stayed buried. And since the Hogwarts term began, he and Harry Potter have been meeting in private to discuss these matters. My sources tell me that these meetings have taken place at least three times over the past four months." He paused, and when he began again, he spoke more slowly, as if to make sure she understood every word. "I need to know _exactly_ what information Dumbledore is sharing with the boy. I need to know why he is sharing it. I need to know what they plan to do. Which is where you come in, Miss Weasley. You and Potter are…" – his lips tilted into another eerie smile – "…close."

Suddenly, Draco stiffened beside her. He must have figured out where this was going. Ginny wished they could read each other's minds.

Tom had arched an eyebrow at her. "Is that correct?"

"My Lord," Draco interrupted. Tom's gaze shifted, his eyes narrowed. "Dumbledore is always summoning Potter to his office for perfectly inconsequential purposes." To everyone else, he must sound calm, neutral. But Ginny could hear an undercurrent of desperation beneath, and her mind began to race. What had he realized? "We have no reason to believe that these meetings are any diff –"

"_Silence_," Tom hissed. His voice was hard and edged, and Ginny saw his grip on his wand tighten. Draco stopped short. "_I_ have reason to believe they are different, and _my _reasons need not concern you," he continued in a dangerous undertone. "You will regret interrupting me again." Slowly, he turned back to Ginny. "Answer my question. You and Potter are close, correct?"

And suddenly, Ginny understood. Her stomach dropped.

"_Answer_," Tom repeated harshly.

She hesitated. She _couldn't_, but if she didn't, she –

"I…," she started. "It's…."

"It does not matter, my Lord," Bellatrix cut in impatiently. "The fact remains that the Potter boy _wishes_ to be close to her."

"True," Tom mused. "You will find out from Potter what he and Dumbledore have been discussing, and you will report on their plans."

Ginny forced herself to get a grip. She had to figure out a way to get out of this, to convince him that she wasn't the right person for this task. But he was looking her right in the eye…if she lied, he would know it immediately. "Harry is very careful," she said finally. "He won't tell me. We're not close enough for him to share –"

Bellatrix's laugh cut her short. "Don't play the naïve little innocent, my dear," she said. "If you're not close enough, _get closer_. Bed him if you have to. The boy has such puerile notions about love and intimacy – Dumbledore's work no doubt. He's hardly likely to keep secrets from the girl he's fucking."

Ginny flushed. She hadn't thought they would ask her to –

Bellatrix cackled again. "Blushing? How quaint. As if you haven't used your…feminine charms…." She looked Ginny up and down and sneered. "…scant as they may be, before. It's the only way to explain my nephew's association with you."

"Enough, Bella," Tom said impatiently. "All that remains is for Miss Weasley to accept this…great honor."

Ginny knew that if she didn't accept, Tom might torture her until she did. Or he might kill her right now. No, she had to say yes. But he would know immediately that she was only doing that so she could get out of the room and away from him, so that she could figure out what to do. So that she and Draco could talk about –

"So, Miss Weasley?" he asked.

Her heart began to pound. She would have to say yes and hope that he didn't see the hesitation in her mind. "I accept," she murmured.

Suddenly, Vladimir Hammer let out a low moan, and his body twitched violently, back arching toward the ceiling. Tom turned away, distracted. "Bella?" he said, annoyance seeping into his voice. He drew his wand.

Bellatrix met her gaze, eyes narrowed.

And that was her saving grace. She knew she wouldn't have been able to fool Tom, but Bellatrix…Bellatrix was not such an accomplished Legilimens. Ginny cleared her mind, remembering every practice session she'd had with Snape and then with Harry, and focused on emptying herself of all emotion. Bellatrix waved her wand, and then Ginny felt her enter her mind. She was much better than Harry, but not quite so good as Snape, and not nearly as good as Tom. She was inelegant, clumsy…. Now Ginny focused on what she'd said – _I accept, I accept, I accept_….

A few more moments, and then Bellatrix withdrew. "She's telling the truth, my Lord."

Ginny relaxed.

"Good."

Hammer was still twitching. His moans had become a weak rattle. "Pleaseeeee….," he whimpered. "Pleaseeeee…."

Tom clicked his tongue with irritation. He twirled his wand. "_Avada Kedavra_," he said carelessly, and Hammer's movements jerked to a halt. Ginny bit the inside of her lip so hard she could taste the metallic flavor of blood.

Tom turned back to Ginny. "You will begin immediately, and you will be summoned to tell us about the status of your…project…each week. You will come when summoned…immediately. You understand?"

"Yes," Ginny said.

"Yes, _my Lord_," Bellatrix supplied.

Ginny didn't respond, and she saw Voldemort's jaw twitch with displeasure.

"You may leave," he said. "Both of you. Wormtail," he added, gesturing vaguely at Hammer's body. "Clean up the mess."

The second beady-eyed man hurried forward, but Ginny didn't wait to watch him dispose of the body. She turned on her heel and strode out as quickly as she could.

As soon as they crossed the threshold, Draco grabbed her shoulder and pulled her to face him. "What are you doing?" he hissed lowly.

"What do you _think_ I'm doing?" she replied. "We have to figure out what I'm going to –"

She heard footsteps and looked past him. Rodolphus had followed them out of the room and was standing in the doorway, arms folded across his chest and a keen expression on his face.

"You can't fucking do this, Ginny," Draco was saying. He kept his voice low, but Ginny knew that Rodolphus could hear every word. "What about everything that happened last night?" He paused, grit his teeth. "You can't do this, Gin," he repeated.

She swallowed. "Well it doesn't look like I have much of a choice, does it?" she said deliberately, forcing herself not to glance past him to his uncle. She grabbed hold of his wrist, dragging him down the hall toward the kitchen. She heard Rodolphus follow. Fuck.

"So you're actually going to…." – his hands folded into tight, white fists – "…_seduce_ information out of _Potter_?" he spat. "You're actually going to fuck him if you have to?"

Ginny cringed. Rodolphus was still watching them, and listening. Merlin, Draco just needed to _shut up_ until they could get out of hearing range and _talk_ about this. "That's what your aunt said, isn't it?" she forced herself to reply. He recoiled as if she'd struck him.

She pulled him into the kitchen, but just as she moved to shut the door, Draco yanked his arm bodily away from her. She met his eyes and flinched – he was furious.

"Draco," she said, lowering her voice to a whisper. She could see Rodolphus out of the corner of her eye. She willed Draco to turn and notice him too. "Can we just talk about this for a –"

He interrupted her with a mirthless laugh, and when he met her eyes again, his expression was icy. "Apparently there's nothing to talk about," he said coldly, and then he turned on his heel and strode out of the room.

Ginny knew she should go after him. Once they were back at Hogwarts, they could discuss everything. But she suddenly felt incredibly light-headed, and she sank down on one of the low wooden benches instead and put her head in her hands.

What the _fuck_ was she going to do?

* * *

><p>Draco stormed out into the foyer, his blood pounding loud in his ears. His throat was tight with anger; it was choking him. How could she even <em>consider<em> –

"You're not the first, you know."

He looked up to see Rodolphus leaning casually against the nearest bannister. He did _not_ want to talk to anyone right now. He wasn't even sure he could. He was feeling an uncontrollable urge to hurl something glass against a wall and watch it shatter into a thousand pieces.

He strode straight past, making for the grate.

Rodolphus moved more quickly than Draco would have thought possible and grasped his shoulder. "You're not the first to have to sacrifice a…" – his upper lip curled in distaste – "…relationship to the cause. But you'll learn soon enough that your love for a girl is nothing compared to your love for the Dark Lord. For blood purity."

"Is this advice coming from experience, Rodolphus?" Draco spat.

"I was a naïve little Hogwarts student once too, you know. We married for love."

Draco laughed unkindly. "You're a fool if you think Aunt Bellatrix ever loved you like she loves Tom Riddle," he said. "And Ginny is _not_ her."

Rodolphus's expression hardened. "That may be," he said, voice hard, "but the result will be the same. In a week's time she'll be sleeping with Potter, and you will have to…adjust."

Draco swallowed his fury and wrenched his shoulder away. "Goodbye, Uncle," he ground out, moving toward the Floo. He thrust the powder to the ground, called out his destination, and left the Manor behind in a flash of green flames.

* * *

><p>It felt like she had been standing in front of the portrait hole for hours when it finally swung open and Harry emerged from within.<p>

"Ginny?" he said, by way of greeting.

She had made her decision, had come straight here, rehearsing the words in her mind. But now that the moment was upon her, she found that her throat stuck.

Harry stepped closer, brow furrowing with concern. He reached out, put a hand on her arm. "Ginny, is everything all right?"

She swallowed, exhaled slowly.

And then she met his eyes. "Tom's given me a task," she said levelly, surprised at how calm she sounded. "And I can't go through with it. I think…he'll kill me if I don't. If I go to Dumbledore and my parents…do you think they can protect me?"

Harry stood in shocked silence for a long moment. She knew he was processing what she was asking, and what it meant.

She knew what it meant too – she was choosing sides. She was choosing Harry's side over Tom's, once and for all. After she went to Dumbledore and her parents, there would be no going back.

But she couldn't do anything else. She'd sat in the kitchen for several long minutes, mind racing. And she'd realized that maybe she really _had_ been kidding herself all along. She'd talked and talked and talked about staying neutral. She'd convinced herself it was possible. But Tom had been bound to ask something of her eventually.

And he'd possessed her, taken every bit of her, dismantled her, nearly _killed_ her. And he _had_ killed Cedric, disposed of him like so much waste. She couldn't help him kill Harry too. And Draco. _What about everything that happened last night?_ he'd said. _You can't do this, Gin._ He was right. She couldn't.

She wouldn't.

"They can protect you," Harry answered finally, drawing her from her thoughts. She met his eyes again, and he was smiling. She realized then that as much as he'd understood it, it must have hurt him that one of his best friends wouldn't take his side in the most important fight of any of their lives. He took her face in his hands and planted a soft kiss on her forehead. "Come with me."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> First of all, I want to apologize for how long it's been taking me to update recently. It's been a really crazy past couple of months. But I'm doing my best, and I want to assure you that this story will not be abandoned. The entire plot is mapped out (and has been for a while) in a very detailed outline, so even if I don't update for a month of more – never fear! This story will be finished.

Again, thank you for the reviews – please send more for this chapter! I want to know what you think!


	30. Christmas at the Burrow

**Chapter 30: Christmas at the Burrow**

Ginny sat in a chair in the middle of the room, her back stiffly straight and her fingers clenched around the ends of the wooden arms. Around her, everyone was arguing, their voices raised and their arms gesticulating wildly. She let her eyes flick up to the portraits on the walls. They were arguing too, glaring and pointing in her direction. She exhaled through her teeth, feeling like she was sitting in the eye of a storm.

The last time she'd been in this office, Dumbledore had been asking her to be Cedric's bait in the Triwizard. She remembered waking suddenly, and the incredible feeling of that first gasp of crisp air hitting her lungs, and hearing that booming voice announce that Cedric had won the second task. She felt the corners of her lips tilt up at the memory, and then a flash of sadness, and anger.

She'd made the right choice, coming here now.

"We have no reason whatsoever to believe her, Albus," the richly-robed, dark-skinned man called Kingsley said in a voice loud enough to be heard over the fray. Everyone else quieted, and Ginny turned slightly in her seat to face him. She understood his skepticism. If she'd been in his place, she would have felt the same way.

Her mother stepped forward and put a hand on the chair back. Ginny's chest tightened with uncertainty.

Harry had brought her here, and she'd told Dumbledore what she'd told Harry – that Tom had given her a task, and that she couldn't go through with it. He'd considered her for a long moment, then gone to the grate and summoned her parents, Bill, Professor Lupin, and two others: Kingsley and the young, brown-haired girl in the bright pink puffy jacket called Tonks. In the chaos of their arrival, she hadn't had time to talk to her parents, or to Bill. She didn't know what they thought about all this….

"She's our _daughter_," Molly said defensively, and Ginny felt an unexpected rush of affection for her.

"I appreciate what you must be feeling right now, Molly," Kingsley replied slowly, "but even you must see that we have no reason to believe her because _she's given us none_."

"She didn't have to come forward," Harry said. "She could have just gone along and done whatever Voldemort told her to do."

"That might be _exactly_ what she's doing, Harry," Tonks replied coldly. Ginny's brow furrowed. The woman's dejected expression, and the weary detachment in her voice, jarred with the bubblegum pink of her coat. "Have you even considered that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named might have _told_ her to come and lie to us? To spy on us?

"I know her," Harry said stiffly. "She wouldn't do that."

"She's in Slytherin, and you said yourself that she follows those two around – the Malfoy boy and the other one."

"I didn't say she follows them around," Harry said sharply. "I said they're friends."

"That's exactly the problem, Harry," Tonks replied. "She's –"

"What about Veritaserum?" Ginny cut in. Tonks fell silent, and everyone turned to stare at her. She cleared her throat. "What about Veritaserum?" she repeated, her voice sounding loud in the room.

There was a beat of silence.

Tonks was staring at her, her jaw working agitatedly. Ginny held her gaze. She refused to look away first.

"Well," Dumbledore said finally, "if that would satisfy everyone…. Nymphadora, Professor Snape should have a store on hand, if you would be so kind. I trust you remember how to get to the dungeons?"

Tonks nodded curtly, then turned and left the room. The rest of them remained in taut silence as they waited for her to return. Ginny glanced up and her eyes met Bill's. His lips tilted up slightly in an encouraging smile.

Several minutes later, the office door opened. As she re-entered, the toe of Tonks's boot caught, and she stumbled over the threshold, nearly dropping the two glass vials clutched in her palm. She righted herself, flushing red to the roots of her hair. Professor Lupin made a small sound of amusement, and when Ginny glanced at him, she saw a strange expression cross his face. But before she could analyze it further, Tonks had crossed the room to hand the vials to Dumbledore, who came around his desk toward her. He held out one of the vials.

Ginny's heart began to pound in her chest. She'd never taken Veritaserum before. She knew it was harmless, and she had nothing to hide, but –

Before she could lose her nerve, she took it, pulled out the stopper, and poured the few clear drops down her throat.

At first, nothing happened. But then, slowly, the edges of her vision began to blur. The lines of the room softened, and it was as if she was looking through a cloudy lens. She blinked, feeling suddenly lightheaded.

"Miss Weasley?" Dumbledore's voice. She registered that it sounded deeper than normal, but somehow, she couldn't bring herself to care.

"What is your full name?" he said.

"Ginevra Molly Weasley," she heard a voice say, and observed that it was her own lips forming the words.

"What is your House?"

Suddenly, she felt a flash of resistance. She was an Occlumens. She could repel this, throw off the haze…all she needed to do was focus. But no. She swallowed, forcing her body to relax. She didn't want to resist. She had nothing to hide, and she had to convince them that she was telling the truth.

"Slytherin," she replied, feeling the dimness return as her muscles relaxed.

She heard indistinct voices, and then Dumbledore asked, "Why did you go to Gryffindor Tower earlier tonight?"

"To speak to Harry."

"What did you want from him?"

"Protection."

A pause, then, "Why do you need protection?"

"Tom will kill me when he finds out I won't complete my task."

"When did Voldemort give you this task?"

"This evening."

"And what was the task? In its entirety, please."

Ginny knew she should feel some hesitation. In all of the chaos and flurry of coming to Dumbledore and then of summoning everyone else, she hadn't told any of them exactly what she'd been asked to do. But she was already speaking. "To find out why you've been digging into Tom's past. To find out what you and Harry have been talking about in your private meetings."

"And why have you decided not to complete this task?"

She felt too many words reach her lips at the same time, and she had to swallow them back, trying to organize her thoughts as best she could against the haziness and the urge to answer. All she could manage were half sentences, strung together in a blur. "He killed Cedric…," she heard herself say, "…wanted me to do whatever I had to…to make Harry trust me…" – she heard Harry's sharp intake of breath as he understood – "I couldn't do that to Harry…to Draco…."

"To Draco?" Dumbledore pressed.

"I can't do that to them," she finished.

There were several moments of silence after she stopped speaking, and then finally, Dumbledore pressed the second vial into her palm and guided it to her lips. She drank the liquid down dutifully, feeling the haze withdraw with each swallow.

She shook herself and straightened. Somewhere along the way, she'd slumped low in the chair.

"Are we satisfied?" Dumbledore was saying.

"If you recall, Albus," Kingsley said warily, "Severus gave her the power to fool us. It is a short leap from Occlumency to overcoming the effects of Veritaserum."

Bill shifted angrily. "Why test her if you still won't believe her now she's passed?"

Kingsley's eyes flashed and he opened his mouth to respond, but Lupin spoke first. "I don't think it matters," he said, his voice calm and even. "Does it, Albus?" He turned his gaze to Dumbledore. "You'd already decided before you summoned us, hadn't you?"

Dumbledore nodded slowly.

"The only other people who believe her are blinded by their relationship with her," Tonks said insistently. "I'm sorry, Molly, Arthur, but it's true. And with all due respect, Headmaster, just because you believe her doesn't mean –"

"I believe her as well," Lupin cut in. Tonks's eyes flashed and her jaw set, but she seemed to be taking pains not to look at him. Ginny glanced between them. "I taught her for a year," he continued, "and if all of the people who know her well are willing to believe her – if _Albus_ believes her – I think that ought to be enough."

Kingsley exhaled heavily. "So be it," he said. He fixed Ginny with a stern glare. "I sincerely hope you do not give us reason to regret this, Miss Weasley."

"I won't," she replied firmly.

He nodded and, without another word, crossed the room to the grate, then disappeared in a whirl of green flames. Lupin moved to follow. His hand hovered awkwardly at the small of Tonks's back for a moment before he shoved it deep into his coat pocket. She didn't seem to notice as she stepped into the grate. "Professor," Ginny said quickly. He turned. "Thank you." He smiled and nodded, then thrust down a handful of Floo powder and vanished.

Ginny was left alone with the Headmaster, Harry, her parents, and Bill.

Her mother moved her hand from the chair back to run her fingers lightly over the top of Ginny's head. "You'll come home for Christmas?" she said softly. Her voice quavered, and Ginny felt a pang in her chest.

She glanced from her mother to Dumbledore. "I'd signed up to stay, but…."

"Pack your things tonight, Miss Weasley," Dumbledore replied, smiling kindly. His eyes sparkled. "You may take the train home with the other students tomorrow morning."

* * *

><p>Draco stalked down the castle steps and out into the open air. His body felt like an exposed wire – his heart was pounding in his chest, and every muscle was taut and nearly trembling with anger and frustration and Merlin knew what else….<p>

A gust of frigid December wind whistled past his ears, cutting straight through his wool coat and shirt to his skin beneath. He grit his teeth and hunched his shoulder, pressing forward in long strides across the Quidditch pitch. By now, the sun was sinking toward the horizon, and the outline of the Forbidden Forest was already inky black before him.

He'd gone up to his dormitory and tried to ward off questions by ensconcing himself in the loo and running the tap. But Goyle's mindless, stupid chatter had filtered in through the closed door, and he'd known that Blaise, whose questioning eyes had tracked him across the room, was just waiting for him to emerge. It had taken him all of three minutes to feel like the castle was smothering him.

So he'd thrown his coat back on and stormed out here to the open grounds, where he could – he let out a mirthless laugh – _fume_ in peace.

How could she even _consider_ this? It had been less than twenty-four fucking hours since they'd sorted themselves out, and she'd said yes to the bloody mission. Yes without even a note of hesitation.

He let out a frustrated sound and ran an aggravated hand through his hair.

Some more rational, less emotional part of him knew that he was being unfair. Had he really expected her to refuse the Dark Lord? They'd both seen that man writhing at the Dark Lord's feet in a pool of his own blood. Faced with that, how could he expect her to do anything _but_ agree? But the thought of her and Potter –

He clenched his hands into fists and pushed those thoughts deep down, beneath the anger.

And anyway, he thought harshly, how often had she done something stupid because of some idiotic, unshakeable belief that it was _right_? She'd challenged his parents in the Hospital Wing after he'd been attacked by that Hippogriff. She'd even hexed Umbridge and held the rest of the Inquisitorial Squad at wand point to protect Potter and his merry band of Gryffindors, for fuck's sake! So even if he couldn't expect any rational person to refuse, Ginny…. Ginny was different.

He had come to the edge of the forest, and he came to a halt, beating back the reckless, frustrated impulse to stride straight into the darkness. The forest was pitch black – almost unbelievably so. He could only see a dozen feet past the first line of trees, and eerie sounds filtered out from –

"You're not thinking of going in there, are you?"

He turned to see Ginny standing a few feet away, wearing a jumper that was much too big for her. He recognized it as one of his, or maybe it was Blaise's – she was always stealing their clothes. He met her eyes. She looked half-amused, and he felt a flash of annoyance. There was nothing _amusing_ about what she was doing.

He shoved his fists deep into his coat pockets and set his jaw.

"Blaise thought you'd be out here," she continued, "but I didn't think I'd find you about to walk into the Forbidden Forest." Her lips tilted into a momentary smile. "Bit dramatic, don't you think?"

He barked out a harsh laugh. "I don't think much of Potter's powers of deduction, but even _he'll_ be suspicious if he finds out we're having little nighttime meetings, don't you think?" he retorted unkindly.

She rolled her eyes. "I'm not doing it, you idiot."

She said it so nonchalantly, so matter-of-factly, that for a moment, he thought he'd misheard. "What?" he said.

"I'm not doing it," she repeated. She held his gaze steadily this time. "I…." Her voice wavered, and she swallowed, steeling herself. Instinctively, he stepped forward, let his hand hover beside her shoulder. "I went to Dumbledore. I told him everything."

"Why?" he said unnecessarily, feeling the boiling, uncontainable anger of a few seconds ago seeping out of him by degrees.

"I can't," she answered shortly. She sighed. "Because of Cedric and Harry and my family…and you." She arched an eyebrow at him. "You _idiot_."

He exhaled heavily and pulled her toward him to plant a kiss on her forehead. "Dammit, Gin. Don't you ever fucking do that to me again."

She pulled away and crossed her arms over her chest, glaring. "You have the observation skills of a one-eyed mountain troll, do you know that?" she said testily. "Your bloody uncle was standing _right_ behind you, listening to everything. If you'd waited five seconds before storming off, we could have actually _talked_ about it and skipped all the…." She gestured wildly in his general direction.

He rolled his eyes, but he was grinning. "Dramatics?" he supplied.

"Dramatics," she agreed, shaking her head at him. "You're so fucking dramatic."

"Yeah? Well, let's see me agree to seduce –" he cast around for someone awful, then made a disgusted face – "_Granger_. You'd be a _nightmare_."

Ginny snorted. "Hermione? She'd eat you alive, Malfoy. Would be doing us all a favor, though…."

Draco laughed aloud. He tucked a flyaway strand of hair behind her ear. "Gin?"

She looked up at him. "Yeah?"

He took her cheeks between his hands. "Shut up, will you?" he murmured, and kissed her.

But fifteen minutes later, as they made their way back across the grounds toward the castle, an uncomfortable feeling began to grow in Draco's chest. In some cruel, twisted way, staying with him had required Ginny to pick Potter over the Dark Lord. And now they were on different sides. How long could they hope to last on opposite sides of the fight? One of them, Potter or the Dark Lord, would win eventually, and when that happened –

His arm stiffened where it was draped across her shoulders. She glanced up at him. "Is something wrong?" she asked, brow furrowing.

He swallowed. He'd _wanted_ her to refuse the task. And he remembered telling her, what seemed like ages ago, that she should go to her parents rather than put herself under his father's power. No, he thought, there was nothing for it now. It was done.

He forced a smile, pressing a soft kiss to her hair. "Nothing," he replied.

* * *

><p><em>The next morning<em>

The compartment door slid open and Blaise entered, an arm raised to shield his eyes. "Is it safe?" he asked, grinning.

"Of course it is, you wanker," Ginny replied, glancing up and rolling her eyes.

"Well _excuse me_ for wanting to avoid the sight of you two going at it," Blaise said. "I'd have to clean out my eye sockets, and there's not enough bleach in the world."

"Fuck off," Draco deadpanned. He was lying outstretched on the seat, his head resting on Ginny's lap and his right ankle propped up across his left knee.

"We don't shag in public places, where anyone might walk in," Ginny said. She shot Blaise a significant look, her lips tilting into a cheeky grin. "Unlike _some_ people I know."

He laughed, collapsing lengthwise onto the seat opposite. "Your loss."

"Speaking of not enough bleach in the world," Draco said, "have you seen your _brother_?"

"Which one?" Blaise replied for her. "She has dozens."

Ginny rolled her eyes, and he smirked.

"Githead."

"Six years and that's _still_ the best nickname you can come up with," Ginny lamented, shaking her head in mock disappointment. "What's he done this time?"

"He and Brown have been snogging each other senseless all over the castle." He shivered theatrically. "His technique is…repulsive. The amount of stray saliva –"

She cut him off with a disgusted sound, and Blaise barked out a laugh. "Can we _please_ not talk about my brother's _technique_?" she said, knocking her elbow against his head.

"It's for his benefit, Weasley," Blaise said. "If _you_ won't tell him that he kisses like a deranged Niffler searching for gold down Brown's throat, who will?"

"Maybe Granger will do us all a favor," Draco commented speculatively. "Remember dinner two weeks ago? She looked even more disgusted than the rest of us."

Ginny didn't, but Blaise shrugged in agreement. "Or maybe she'll do us an even bigger favor and strangle him." Draco snorted.

There was a rumble beneath them, and the train began to slow. Ginny turned to the window to watch them pull laboriously into King's Cross. She felt a little stab of regret. This was the first time in a long time that things had felt…normal…_easy_…between the three of them, and she hated that the moment had to end.

Draco was standing, straightening his jacket.

Ginny shook herself and stood too, twisting her hair up into a messy ponytail and reaching for her train bag on the luggage rack above. There'd be plenty more time for them to piss each other off after the holidays, she thought wryly. For now, she had to focus on the matter at hand.

She followed Blaise and Draco out of the compartment and then off the train. Draco pressed a goodbye kiss to her temple, and she had to punch a laughing Blaise hard on the arm when he tried to plant a mocking kiss on her lips. He settled for ruffling her hair familiarly.

As they moved away, she scanned the platform. She found them about thirty feet away: her parents, Ron, and Harry. They were looking for her too. Harry spotted her first and waved her over.

Her heart began to thump hard in her chest. For the first time in two years, she was going home.

* * *

><p>Ginny stood in the middle of her bedroom, turning in a slow circle. She swallowed, her throat sticking uncomfortably.<p>

She knew that nothing had changed since the last time she'd been here. The walls were the same pale pink color that she'd always hated, and the posters of Gwenog Jones and the Weird Sisters were still plastered beside her bed. Yet the room felt unfamiliar, somehow…. She wondered if this was how people felt after having Memory Charms reversed.

She crossed to her bed and sank down on the edge, absentmindedly running her palm over the surface of her comforter.

There was a light rap on her door frame, and she looked up to see her dad hovering in the doorway. "Can I come in?"

"Sure," she said lightly, managing to keep the wariness she felt from seeping into her voice.

He stepped into the room and shut the door with a soft click before sinking into her desk chair. He leaned forward, balancing his elbows on his knees and interlacing his fingers.

"Your mum's making your favorite for dinner," he said with a small smile.

She smiled back. "Lasagna?"

He nodded. They fell back into silence, and he turned his gaze down to his folded hands. Ginny took the opportunity to observe him. He looked older – his hair was thinner than she remembered, and there were tired lines at the corners of his eyes and around his mouth. But she supposed that being mauled by a vicious snake and facing the prospect of Tom's rise to power _would_ age a person.

He exhaled heavily. "Gin-bug…your coming home…," he began. She felt a dull pang of nostalgia at the term. No one else had ever called her that.

But when he met her eyes, Arthur's expression was hard and serious – more serious than she had ever seen it. "Can you promise me that there's nothing more to it than what you told us in Albus's office yesterday?" he asked gravely.

She swallowed, forcing herself not to look away, and nodded.

"You know as well as I do that there's no way for me to tell whether or not that's the truth," he said.

She nodded again. "I know," she began. "But it –"

He shook his head. "It's all right, Ginny," he continued, more gently now. "Your mother, Bill, and I defended you yesterday because we believe you. You don't have to explain yourself again…not to me, anyway."

He sighed again and cleared his throat. "We believe that we raised you well," he continued after a pause. "Not perfectly," he added, smiling wryly at her, "but as well as we knew how."

She didn't know quite how to answer, but it didn't seem as though he was looking for a response. "So we always believed that if it really came down to choosing between right and wrong, you'd come back to us. I was even more sure after you and Percy left me that note at the hospital," he added, another small smile ghosting over his lips. "And now it seems you have."

"But I want you to know right now, Gin-bug…." he said, fixing her with hard eyes once more. He was speaking slowly, as if he had a lot to say but didn't know quite how to say it. "…that if there's more to all this than you're telling us…if Kingsley and Tonks were right about your motivations…it will break your mother's heart."

Despite what he'd just said, Ginny felt the sudden urge to defend herself. "Dad, I'm not –"

"She's a strong woman, Ginny," Arthur said over her, holding up a hand for silence. "But after Percy left, two of her children were gone, and…." He left the sentence hanging, and Ginny felt another pang – of pain this time.

"I get it, Dad," she said.

"I don't think you do, Ginny," he said reprovingly. "You can't, because you don't have children. Now that you're home, your mother is doing everything she can to keep it that way. You should have heard the warnings she gave Ron and the twins about making snide comments."

"I can imagine," she said, and he laughed lightly.

"And I'm sure you've noticed that she hasn't said a single word about Draco Malfoy or anything else that we've…disagreed about in the past."

That was true. Ginny had been sure that as soon as she came home, her mum would take up the same old arguments about Draco and Slytherins and switching Houses. But she hadn't. She'd chattered and fussed like she always had, but she hadn't said a word about any of those things.

Ginny had suspected that Molly was just waiting for the right moment to strike, but she realized now that it wasn't that at all. Her mum was afraid she'd leave again. She felt an acute twinge of shame.

Arthur was observing her keenly, and she suspected that he knew exactly what she was thinking.

"She's trying, Ginny," he said softly. He cleared his throat as if to say something more, then stopped. After a moment, he just pushed himself out of the chair and leaned forward to give her a light kiss on the temple. "Well, I'll leave you to get unpacked. But in any case, I'm glad you're home, Gin-bug," he said.

She smiled. "Me too."

He turned back to her in the doorway. "You'll be even gladder once you've had the lasagna, I expect," he said, and with a smile and wink he retreated back down the stairs.

* * *

><p>It was eleven o'clock a few nights later, and Ginny was sitting cross-legged on her bed, flipping unenthusiastically through her O.W.L.-level Defense textbook, when she heard a loud bang coming from somewhere above, followed by a yelp and a short bout of laughter.<p>

Her first thought was that it was the twins, and she hardly batted an eye, just ran her fingers over a diagram of common wand movements for defense against hexes, and –

She paused mid-flip. The twins didn't live here anymore. They'd come to the Burrow for Christmas day, then hurried back to their shop. It was their busiest time of year, they'd reported happily. No, it definitely couldn't be the twins, which meant the sound had to have come from Ron's room at the top of the house. Even as she thought it, there was another loud crash.

She put her book aside and grabbed her wand from her bedside table, then bounded up the stairs two at a time. A sliver of light filtered out from beneath Ron's door, and as she stepped onto the landing, there was another bang, and someone guffawed inside.

She knocked on the door. "All right in there?" she asked.

There was a muffled laugh that sounded like Harry, and then a gruff call from Ron. "It's fine."

"Come in," Harry said, and she thought she heard Ron make a sound of protest, but he stopped short as she pushed open the door.

Ron was sitting up against his headboard, his knees pulled up to his chest and his wand balanced on his knees. Something shiny was lying on the bedspread before him. Harry was outstretched atop his own covers, propped up by his elbows, and there was a Quidditch magazine next to him, open but unheeded.

Harry smiled at her and moved as far as he could on the narrow camp bed. She glanced at Ron. For the past few days he'd been coolly polite, except for one bright incident on Christmas when they'd both made a joke about Minister Scrimgeour – who had just left with Percy after his failed attempt to woo Harry into being the Ministry's poster boy – at the exact same moment. Ron had actually laughed aloud for several seconds before realizing what he was doing, at which point he'd tried to pretend his laughter had been a coughing fit.

Now, he looked conflicted at the prospect of her joining them, but he didn't say a word, so she sank down and folded her legs beneath her. "Are you two giving Forge a run for their money?"

"We _wish_ we were that successful," Harry replied. "Ron's just trying to destroy –"

Ron flushed. "You're not bloody well going to tell her are –"

"– _that_," Harry finished, gesturing to the shiny thing next to Ron's left foot.

Ron glared, and Harry shrugged. "Well, let's see it," Ginny said amusedly, raising her eyebrows at her brother.

Ron sighed loudly and shot Harry another dirty look. The chain clinked as he lifted it up by one finger, pursing his lips disgustedly.

Ginny laughed aloud, and Ron scowled at her. "Sorry," she said. If it had been anyone else, she would have ridiculed them mercilessly, but she was trying to mend fences with Ron, and he had always been a big, sensitive prat. "It's…."

It was a necklace. A pendant of sorts – the words "MY SWEETHEART" spelled out in thick gold lettering – hanging at the end of a bulky gold chain.

She honestly could not think of a single complimentary word. Beside her, Harry had dissolved into laughter at her expression and had buried his face flat in his blanket. With difficulty, she swallowed her own laughter and exhaled, schooling her face as best she could to cool neutrality. "…classy," she said finally. "Sophisticated," she added for good measure. Harry made a snorting sound.

"Oh, sod off!" Ron burst out, throwing the necklace back down. "It's horrible!" He regarded it with revulsion and a good helping of mistrust, as if it might grow limbs and attack him.

"You're right," Ginny deadpanned, grinning. "I was lying. It's horrible."

He made a frustrated sound, flopped onto his back, and pulled his pillow over his face. "I'm _stuck_ with it, too!" he said.

"It's proven surprisingly immune to destruction," Harry explained, eyes sparkling with mirth.

"She's probably charmed it!" Ron put in, still muffled by his pillow.

"May I assume that _she_ is the lovely Miss Lavender Brown?" Ginny asked.

Ron sat upright and narrowed his eyes at her. "How do _you_ know about her?"

She considered telling him what Draco and Blaise had said on the train, but figured he wouldn't take it well. "You're not exactly subtle," she said instead.

He rolled his eyes and flopped down again. "I'm going to _have_ to wear it," he said mournfully to the ceiling. "She'll accuse me of hating it –"

"You do hate it," Harry observed.

Ron ignored him. "– Seamus is never going to let me hear the end of it, and _Hermione_! Oh Merlin, I can see her face now. She'll be the worst…annoying and judgmental and…. You know how she is, Harry."

Ginny raised her eyebrows in Harry's direction. Since when was her brother so openly critical of Hermione? Harry rolled his eyes and shook his head a little to ward her off questions.

Ron was still talking. "I'll just have to remind her that she took that arse _McLaggen_ to Sluggy's party. That ought to shut her up about other people's love lives."

Ginny groaned. "McLaggen…." She exchanged a significant look with Harry, thinking fondly of the many enjoyable hours they'd spent picking apart all of the annoying things McLaggen said at Slug Club events. "Even Hermione should be able to do better than _him_."

Ron flew upright again, and this time he was glowering. "_Even_ Hermione? What do you mean – _even_ Hermione? Hermione's brilliant. She can _definitely_ do better than McLaggen – no '_even_' about it."

Ginny's eyebrows went up to her hairline. "What was that you were just saying?" she said. She turned to Harry with mock confusion. "I can't quite remember…."

"I _think_…" Harry replied, playing along, "I _think_ his exact words were…annoying and judgmental…the worst…."

Ron scowled and threw his pillow at them. It sailed over their heads and landed square on the floor. He crossed his arms over his chest and sank back down, turning onto his side so his back was to them. "_You two_ are the worst," he grumbled under his breath.

Ginny laughed and stood. She grabbed Ron's pillow off the floor and crossed to his bed. "Well, on that note, I think I'll head to bed." She deposited his pillow next to him, then paused. She wasn't sure if they were on good enough terms for her to…. Before she could overanalyze it, she reached out and ruffled his hair in the way she _knew_ he hated. "Night, Ron."

He reached back to slap at her hand, making a irritated sound, but for a moment, it felt like nothing had changed since they were bickering pre-teens. She grinned as she turned away.

"Night, Harry," she said. "I'd do the same to you," she added, "but your hair's messy enough without it."

He smiled broadly. "Night, Ginny."

She shut the door behind her and made her way back down the familiar Burrow steps to her bedroom.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Finally, a new chapter! Thank you for being patient with me - this one was harder to write than usual. I'd love to hear your thoughts! I have a rough week and a half of finals ahead of me, and reviews would help me get through it (*nudge nudge*)!


	31. The Summons and the Task

**Chapter 31: The Summons and the Task**

Ginny pressed herself low over her broom handle, heading straight for the goal posts at the opposite end of the pitch. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Adam Vaisey flying parallel, the Quaffle tucked securely under his arm. Draco – who was playing the part of opposing Chaser – loomed up before her. In the last second before they collided, she threw him a cheeky wink, saw him grin, and then just as Blaise had instructed her, she dove beneath him, jerked her broom up immediately, whipped her head left with her arm outstretched in Vaisey's direction, and –

Vaisey sailed right past without turning.

She pulled her broom up short and exhaled in frustration. "Pass the _fucking_ Quaffle," she growled under her breath.

"No point telling me about it," Draco commented with a smirk, pulling up beside her.

She smiled at that. She began clenching and unclenching her fingers within her too-thin gloves in an attempt to infuse some heat into the numb digits. It was the second week of January, and the wind that whipped against her face was icy cold and cutting. She glanced up at the sky – it was a murky grayish-white. It was bound to start snowing any minute now.

"Vaisey, if you don't pass the fucking Quaffle on the next run," Blaise was saying behind them, voice sharp, "I will throw you off the team, even if it means I have to beg Urquhart to take your place." Ginny turned to see him whirl his broom to the right and back around to their starting position. "Run it again," he added unnecessarily.

Crabbe chuckled. "Better believe him," he said, giving his Beater's bat a casual twirl and then swiping it down to knock against the top of Vaisey's shoulder. "He threw your sister out of _his bed_," Crabbe continued, smiling wickedly, "and by all accounts she's pretty good in the sack."

Vaisey, a lanky Fourth Year whose good looks were marred by a set of hopelessly crooked teeth, jerked away and sneered. "Something you have absolutely no chance of confirming for yourself, Crabbe," he snapped.

Ginny laughed aloud. Blaise and Draco both snorted, and Crabbe scowled.

"Run it again," Blaise repeated, but she saw him smirk a little the way he always did when he couldn't resist a taunt. And after a moment he turned to Vaisey. "He's right though. And Samantha was much better at…_that_…than you are at Quidditch."

Vaisey flushed and opened his mouth to retort.

"Yeah, yeah, you slept with his sister," Ginny interrupted, rolling her eyes in Blaise's direction. "You're very manly, etcetera." Blaise laughed amusedly at her tone. "Can we get back to it now? If we stay out here any longer my fingers will be so numb I won't be able to catch the Quaffle – even if Vaisey finally decides to pass it."

"And you've already made us miss breakfast," Draco added. "Can we not make it lunch as well?"

Blaise grinned. "Fair enough. Well, you heard them," he said, turning to the rest of the team. "Hurry it up."

Twenty minutes later, Ginny stood beneath the steaming hot spray of one of the locker room showers. She shut her eyes and tipped her head back, reveling in the feeling of the scorching water flowing across her chilled skin. She let out a contented groan.

"Looks like she doesn't need you, mate." She heard Blaise's laughing voice on the other side of the shower curtain.

She heard Draco snort. "Trust me, she sounds a lot better than that when she's _needing_ me," he responded with equal bits smugness and mirth.

Ginny stuck her head around the curtain. Both of them had collapsed onto the wood bench just outside her shower stall, their hair wet from their own showers. Blaise was leaning back against the locker behind and Draco was sitting forward, his elbows resting on his knees and a Snitch twirling in his right palm. She shot them mock glares. "Don't get too cocky, Malfoy," she said cheekily. "I'm sure I could get along just fine without you, thanks very much."

Draco raised his eyebrows at her challengingly. "Also," she added, forcing herself to look away from him, "when did the three of us throw privacy completely out the window? I'm enjoying a shower here."

"_Enjoying_ being the operative word," Blaise laughed.

She rolled her eyes. "Fuck off," she replied, but she was grinning as she retreated back behind the curtain and pulled it shut with a harsh scrape of metal on metal.

"Anyway, Weasley, I needed to ask you what the hell we're going to do about Vaisey," Blaise added. "The Ravenclaw match is in five weeks, and their Chasers aren't half as bad as Crabbe, Goyle, and Malfoy here."

"Hey! I resent that, you wanker," Draco protested.

Ginny stepped back under the water and reached for her bottle of soap. "Isn't he _your_ problem, Zabini?" she replied.

"She has a point," she heard Draco agree. "You let him onto the team, moron."

"What the fuck was I supposed to do?" Blaise protested. "It was him or Urquhart." The thought of the disgusted face he must be making made Ginny grin into the spray of water.

"Urquhart might not have been a bad choice," Draco said. "Given that he's mortally afraid of Weasley, he'd probably have toed the line – kept his mouth shut."

"But we'd still have had to look at him," Ginny said, and she heard them laugh. "Maybe if you stopped ridiculing Vaisey about his sister…."

"But he's so _easy_," Blaise moaned. "Come on, _you_ got to fuck with Flint just to fuck with him," he added.

Ginny washed away the rest of the soap, shut off the water, and pulled her towel down from where it hung over the curtain rod. She mussed it over her hair, then wrapped it securely around herself before exiting the stall. "_I_ hadn't slept with Flint's sister," she said pointedly, going to her locker.

"Is that the standard now?" Blaise replied, sounding mournful. "We can't ridicule people whose sisters we've shagged?"

She began to pull her clothes on behind the locker door but poked her head around to arch an eyebrow at Blaise. "Why are you giving me that look?"

"He's depressed," Draco said, grinning, "because by that standard, there's hardly anyone left for him to ridicule."

After she had dressed and charmed her hair dry, the three of them made their way back across the grounds toward the castle, Ginny between the Draco and Blaise with her arms looped through theirs.

"I hope it's not that fish dish again," she commented as they mounted the steps. The Great Hall was brightly lit, the noisy chatter and laughter of lunch spilling out from within.

"I would love to find out," Blaise said, "but unfortunately, I have places to be." With a smirk, he disentangled himself and started away down the hall.

"More people's sisters to shag?" Draco called after him.

He shot them a smug look over his shoulder.

"Given that our best friend has a date with a broom cupboard," Ginny laughed, turning to Draco, "it looks like it's just you and me for lunch."

"Actually," he replied lowly, reaching down to intertwine their fingers, "we have somewhere to be as well."

"Where?" she asked. He smiled as he pulled her away from the Great Hall toward the dungeons.

"I have to show you something," he replied cryptically. His second finger started to run slow circles around her palm. The movement sent a shiver up her spine.

She glanced up at him, and the slight smirk playing around his lips made her heart thrill in her chest. "Show me what?" she asked, her voice lowering to match his.

He didn't answer as they descended the dungeon steps and crossed the Common Room. Her heart started pounding hard – with anticipation now and something else – as he led her up the staircase to his empty dormitory, shut the door, cast a few quick spells at it.

"Show me what?" she whispered again. He met her eyes, and they were dark with something that made heat pool at the base of her stomach. _Gods_, when he looked at her like that….

He closed the distance between them and pressed her firmly back toward his bed, that infuriating smirk still on his lips. Merlin, he was so cocky and smug and –

She fell back onto his mattress, and his palms immediately pushed her skirt up, running hard lines up her stockinged thighs to grip her hips. She gasped despite herself. He smiled, his lips finding the pulse point of her neck. And when he murmured against her skin, his voice was husky and laced with self-satisfaction.

"Just how much you need me."

* * *

><p>Draco lay flat on his back, Ginny tangled in the sheets beside him. The fingers of his right hand were threading absentmindedly in her hair, the palm of his left running a light path up and down her arm, from elbow to shoulder. Her eyes were closed.<p>

She looked beautiful, incredibly fucking _beautiful_, with her head pillowed on his chest and her cheeks flushed with the afterglow. The sight of her actually made his chest hurt.

"Looks like we missed lunch after all," she observed softly.

He let out a light laugh and could feel the tremor of it against her temple. "That was worth it. Practice wasn't," he said.

"I think even Zabini would agree."

"True. We'll just make a kitchen run." He shifted slightly to look at the clock on his bedside table. "It's –"

Just then, there was a clamor of footsteps on the stairs, and the dormitory door opened. Blaise's voice sounded from the other side of the bed curtains. "Livia gave me a letter for you, Weasley." They could hear him moving across the room, then flopping down on his own mattress.

Draco reached for his wand and removed the Silencing Charm.

"How did you know I was here?" Ginny called back as they sat upright.

"Malfoy doesn't draw his curtains unless he's shagging you or sleeping," Blaise replied nonchalantly. "And seeing as it's one in the afternoon…."

Draco turned to roll his eyes in Ginny's direction as he pulled on his boxers. She laughed, pulled the sheet up around her, and began to rake her fingers through her hopelessly mussed hair.

"Your powers of deduction never cease to amaze me," Draco said dryly, pulling the curtains open. Blaise was leaning against his headboard, looking flushed himself and thoroughly self-satisfied.

Ginny held out her hand. "Remind me why your witch of the week is writing me letters…?"

"It's not from Livia, genius," Blaise said, handing it over.

"Is this Livia Reardon?" Ginny asked. "The Fourth Year?"

Blaise nodded. "The blonde. And I asked her just now. She doesn't have siblings."

"In the clear then," she said, and he smirked.

"Exactly. She said she took it from Ares at breakfast, since none of us were there."

Draco stiffened. Beside him, he felt Ginny pause in the process of ripping open the letter. He knew she'd had the same thought. If _Ares_ was delivering a letter to _her_….

It could only be one thing.

She drew out the single sheet of parchment. To Draco, the page looked blank, but Ginny's eyes were already skimming across it, taking in words that only she could read.

Her features remained stock still, but Draco saw something harden beneath them, something around her eyes and at the corners of her lips, and he knew that she was trying hard to seem unaffected.

"Gin…," he murmured, but suddenly, she lowered the parchment and looked up. She smiled brightly and reached for her wand.

"The Reardon girl obviously likes you if she's willing to act as proxy owl," she commented to Blaise, her voice light and casual. As she spoke, she pointed her wand at the letter. "_Incen_–"

Draco reached out and grabbed her wrist. She stopped mid-spell and turned to him. He met her eyes. If the letter was what he thought – a summons for the Dark Lord – then maybe she should think before she –

She looked away and pulled forcefully from his grip. "_Incendio_," she said resolutely. "You should at least _try_ not to fuck her over completely," she added as the parchment went up in flames.

"I'll do my best," Blaise replied slowly. He shot an uncertain glance at Draco, who shook his head ever-so-slightly to ward him off questions.

Blaise turned to Ginny and smiled back at her. "Can't make any promises though."

* * *

><p><em>About a month later, Valentine's Day<em>

It was a crisp, windless morning, and a light snow was falling as the three of them strode down the main street of Hogsmeade, the snow crunching pleasantly beneath their feet. Draco pulled his coat collar up around his neck and shoved his fingers deep into his pockets.

"Honestly, Zabini, if you don't stop talking about Quidditch," he said easily, cutting off another of Blaise's rants, "I'm going to hex you."

Blaise grinned. "Well _excuse me_," he replied. "_Some_ of us," – he slung an arm around Ginny's shoulders and dragged her toward him – "actually want to win next week."

"Unfortunately I have to challenge authority on this one," Ginny replied, smirking up at him. "Just because I want to win doesn't mean I want to listen to seven more days of your thrilling descriptions of pass formations."

He winked back at her. "At least you've noticed they're thrilling."

"Absolutely," Draco deadpanned. "Nearly as good as watching grass grow."

Blaise laughed aloud and tossed a rude gesture in his direction.

"Drinks?" Ginny asked, pausing at the door of the Three Broomsticks. She shifted a bit to let a group of giggling Ravenclaws out of the pub and raised her eyebrows at them.

"Crowded, as usual," Draco said, peering through the half-frosted windows. "But I see a free table at the back."

They entered, and Draco moved toward the bar. "What do you want?" he asked as Ginny and Blaise started toward the empty table.

"Butterbeer – warm," Ginny said, reaching up to unwind her green and silver striped scarf. She glanced at Blaise, who grinned and nodded. "Make that two."

Draco ordered their drinks and then relaxed against the bar as he waited. He leaned his right forearm against the mahogany surface and surveyed the pub. It looked like they'd gotten the last table; there were several disappointed-looking students hovering in the doorway, scanning for free space.

He saw Parkinson and Greengrass cozying up to a pair of Seventh Years in the far corner, and Longbottom, Finnegan, and Thomas at the table next to them. Finnegan had just made some undoubtedly dim-witted joke, and Longbottom was laughing so hard it looked like Butterbeer might spurt out of his nose at any moment. Thomas was chuckling along, but he looked distracted, and Draco followed his gaze across the room…to Ginny.

"Three Butterbeers," Madam Rosmerta said behind him.

He took the drinks and threaded through the crowd. He smirked as he sank down to Ginny's left. "That Thomas kid is staring at you, Weasley."

"Hm?"

She and Blaise both looked over. After a moment, she gave a light wave. Thomas flushed and turned quickly away.

Blaise snorted. "You know…." he said thoughtfully after a moment. He turned back to them and taking a swig of his drink. "I always thought Githead _needed_ the other two to survive." He gestured to the couple sitting two tables away: it was Weasley and Brown, with their chairs pulled close together. Brown was smiling and chatting away while Weasley fiddled with the handle of his tankard. "Three way breathing mechanism or something."

Ginny laughed and gestured between them. "That's rich coming from us."

"Fair," Blaise replied, grinning.

"Anyway," Draco observed, "Githead and Granger have been on the rocks for ages." He and Blaise exchanged smirks.

Ginny shot them both a half-amused glare over the top of her glass. "Well, no need to look so happy about it."

"You've got to give us this one, Weasley," Blaise put in. "You have to admit that it's pretty hilarious that Potter's little dream team –"

"– which has survived danger the likes of which the rest of us can't even _begin_ to fathom –," Draco added, rolling his eyes.

Blaise nodded. " – is being broken up by _Brown_, who by all accounts is –"

"A relentless idiot?" Ginny finished for him. She shrugged and took a sip of her drink. "Also fair."

"Speaking of the dream team…," Draco said, nodding toward the door. Potter had just ducked through the doorway, Granger at his heels. Granger caught sight of Weasley and started to turn back toward the door, but Potter hissed something in an undertone. After a moment, she sighed and followed him toward the bar, her lips pursed and her arms crossed over her chest.

_Merlin_, their group dynamics were so juvenile it was almost nauseating. He made a disgusted face as he turned back to the table.

Blaise chuckled. "Do you think she actually shagged Krum?" he mused. "You know, back in Fourth Year?"

"He was quite good-looking," Ginny replied, "not to mention an internationally-renowned Quidditch star." She shrugged. "I can see the appeal," she added, knocking her knee against Draco's and smirking at him. "No offense, Malfoy."

Blaise laughed aloud.

Draco rolled his eyes at them, but he was grinning despite himself. "If Granger cared about fame," he said, "she'd be shagging Potter right now instead of making a fool of herself over your half-wit brother." His grin widened. "No offense, Weasley."

"So…she probably snogged him with no follow through," Blaise concluded.

He and Ginny exchanged a significant look. "Typical Gryffindor seduction tactics," she said, and they both laughed aloud.

"THEN WHY DON'T YOU EVER WEAR IT?"

Lavender Brown's irate voice echoed suddenly across the pub. Half the room turned to stare.

Brown had pushed her chair away from the table and was glaring, her arms crossed over her chest and her lips set in a pout. Githead went bright red to his hairline.

"Oh, bloody hell," Ginny murmured under her breath.

"Lav," Weasley managed after several moments of taut silence, "keep your voice –"

"Don't tell me what to do, Ronald Weasley!" Brown snapped. "You keep _saying_ you like it, but you _never_ wear it, and I'm getting really tired of –"

"Lav," Weasley tried again, "everyone is looking at…." He was casting his eyes around the pub, obviously looking for a way out. He caught sight of Potter and Granger. "…_Harry_, thank Merlin," he finished, the relief in his voice nearly palpable.

"Oh, perfect timing!" Brown exclaimed. "We're supposed to be having a romantic Valentine's date, and _of course_ you have to invite _Hermione_."

"I didn't invite her!" Weasley protested.

Brown said something incredulous, but Draco was distracted by Ginny, who stood and crossed the five feet to their table. "Maybe you two should take this outside," she suggested in a low undertone.

"Stay out of it, Weasley," Brown snapped, and Draco watched Ginny flinch at the venom in her voice. "You don't even know what this is about."

Ginny's jaw set with irritation, and Draco felt a brief stab of pity for Brown. When Ginny got irritated….

"I think it's safe to assume," she said calmly, "that this is about the…," – she paused, smirked slightly – "…_lovely_ necklace you bought Ron for Christmas." She glanced pointedly in Hermione's direction. "Among other things."

She didn't bother hiding her sarcasm, so even Brown caught on. She stood up, the legs of her chair scraping against the floorboards, and arched an eyebrow. "Are you saying my gift wasn't tasteful?"

Ginny laughed lightly in a way that Draco knew was carefully calculated to piss Brown off. "Let's just say tasteful isn't necessarily the word I would use to describe it."

Lavender made a furious sound. "How _dare_ you? I don't see that it's any of your –"

Weasley shifted uncomfortably. "Come on, Lav…," he began, and Draco actually felt an ounce of respect for him for daring to get in the middle of this. "She's right. Let's just go outside and –"

"I cannot _believe_ that you're not going to defend me!"

He waved his hands in frustrated confusion. "I don't really know what I'm supposed to be defending you _against_!"

"I am your _girlfriend_!" she said loudly, her voice fierce and near-hysterical now. "And I clearly know you – and what to buy for you – better than a girl who's barely spoken to you in years because she's been too busy sleeping with everyone from Diggory to Harry to half of Slytherin House!"

There were shocked gasps, and then several things happened at once.

Draco pushed back his chair and stood. Beside him, Blaise did the same. "Careful, Brown," he ground out.

"That's over the line, Lavender," Potter said in nearly the same moment, voice sharp.

Ginny's expression hardened, and Draco saw her fingers twitch at her right side, where her wand was stowed in her back pocket. He knew she wasn't particularly bothered by insinuations about Potter or about him and Blaise, but the bit about Diggory….

That had been a low blow.

Brown seemed to realize she'd gone too far. She shrank back a bit, and when she spoke again, her voice was lower and more nervous. "All I'm trying to say is she doesn't _know_ you, Ron, and I –"

"You're right." Granger had pushed herself forward and away from the bar. Her cheeks were flushed, and she looked deathly serious. "She doesn't know him, but even _she_ knows that that necklace is pretty much the _last_ thing on the planet that he would be seen dead wearing. Trust me, I know him better than _either_ of you."

Brown recovered herself and opened her mouth to retort, but Potter stepped forward and grabbed Granger by the elbow. "Come on," he said firmly. "We're taking this outside."

They moved toward the door. Conversations started up once more, and Ginny turned back toward their table.

"You're not going out there?" Blaise asked.

She shrugged. "What for?"

"Well if you're not going to hex her, I'd be happy to do the honors," he replied.

"I appreciate the sentiment," she said, forcing a laugh. "But there's no point. She's a few years behind on her rumors, anyway."

"Well, the offer stands," Blaise replied.

"I think we could all use another drink," Draco said.

Ginny nodded appreciatively. "A Firewhiskey for me, if you can convince Rosmerta to give you one."

He arched an eyebrow at her. "_If_?" That made her smile, and she and Blaise sank back into their chairs as he headed toward the bar.

He was leaning against the wood, waiting with his customary impatience for the barmaid to finish serving other customers, when he felt a soft tap on his shoulder.

He turned to see a middle-aged woman standing beside him. Long strands of straw blonde hair hung limply on either side of her face, and she was draped in dark, ill-fitting clothes. He didn't recognize her. His first thought was that she wanted him to move, and he shifted slightly to give her space against the counter.

"Excuse me," she said, her voice high and strangely thin. "I'm staying in a room upstairs, and I need help moving my suitcase down the stairs."

Draco frowned. He glanced over to where Ginny and Blaise were waiting. Rosmerta was coming toward him now. "Sorry," he said dismissively, "I'm busy at the moment."

Then the woman did something strange. She laughed.

He froze. Her laugh…it sounded so much like….

"I seem to recall you giving me a lecture on politeness, Draco," the woman said, and her voice was suddenly lower, stronger, and much colder. He recognized it, and his mouth went dry. "Come with me," she said.

He grit his teeth and forced his expression to neutrality. And without a word, he followed her away from the bar and up the staircase to the rooms above. He didn't reply until they were securely ensconsced in the room at the end of the hall with a Silencing Charm thrown at the door.

"I gave you a lecture on practicality," he said stiffly, "Aunt Bellatrix."

She laughed again, and he had to force himself not to cringe. Bellatrix's half-maniacal cackle issuing from between the lips of a non-descript stranger…it sent a shiver up his spine.

She seemed to read his mind. "A Muggle woman from the next village," she said. "Hair can be used in Polyjuice several hours after death," she added. "Until decomposition really sets in. Did you know that?"

He swallowed the bile that rose in his throat. He pictured the woman before him as a corpse, cold and lifeless in a ditch somewhere, or propped up in bed for her family to find…. "No," he ground out.

"No," she agreed. "That isn't something _dear_ Severus would teach you, is it?" Her eyes flicked over his features, and he knew she could read the horror in them. She smiled. "So easily disturbed," she mused. "We will have to rectify that."

"Why are you here?" he asked sharply.

She ignored him. "That was quite a show downstairs," she answered instead, "standing up for that little Weasley slut…touching. She's bold herself, though apparently not bold enough to face the Dark Lord."

Draco thought of the summons, and of the parchment going up in flames, then fluttering to the ground as ash. "The Dark Lord is displeased with her, of course. Death is too kind a punishment for cowardly traitors." She paused thoughtfully. "But I think that in his infinite wisdom, the Dark Lord always expected her to fail. She is a Weasley, after all," she sneered, "and there are things even Slytherin colors cannot change."

Draco felt a flash of resentment. "There is a difference between failing and refusing," he said.

Her eyes flashed. "Well," she snapped, "you will do neither."

Draco's stomach dropped. "What?" he hissed.

At his tone, Bellatrix's lips curved into a smile once more. "That's right. The Dark Lord has a task for you."

An image of Ginny, her hands trembling but her chin tilted up as she faced the Dark Lord across the Manor dining room, flashed unbidden across his mind.

Bellatrix was watching him keenly. "Continue bedding her if you must," she said casually, and Draco remembered that she was a Legilimens. He had never had training in Occlumency, didn't know how to recognize when someone was invading his mind…. "You needn't worry. Despite her treachery, the Dark Lord does not intend to kill her…not yet, anyway. He wants her alive to see Dumbledore and Potter defeated." She frowned as if she hardly saw the point, then shook herself.

She caught his gaze, and her voice hardened. "You should know that you will not receive the same consideration. If you fail or refuse, you and your parents will be dead within a week. You can be certain of that."

Draco grit his teeth. He thought of his father in Azkaban, frantically telling him that there was only one way for their family to retain its power. Lucius had been wrong. It was much more serious than that. They were not fighting for power. They were fighting for survival.

"What is the task?" he asked.

Bellatrix smiled. "You know of the Room of Requirement?"

He nodded.

"There is a cabinet hidden inside," she said slowly. "A cabinet with a twin. The twin is in Borgin and Burkes in Knockturn Alley."

Draco's mind began to race.

He remembered an incident early last year, when Montague had been shoved into a cabinet on the first floor. The cabinet had been moved into the Room of Requirement, and after, Montague had mentioned off-hand that he'd heard strange voices from within, voices that seemed to come from both Hogwarts and Borgin and Burkes at once. Everything clicked suddenly into place.

"Vanishing cabinets…," he murmured under his breath.

"Precisely. The Dark Lord has recognized the potential of these twin cabinets. And he has had Borgin working to repair the connection between them for several months. But there are certain repairs that must be made to the cabinet within the castle."

Bellatrix reached into her breast pocket and drew out a single sheet of parchment, folded in half. She handed it to him. "Borgin has made notes – spells that he has attempted and spells that remain to be attempted. You will do what needs to be done so that individuals may enter the castle from Knockturn Alley, and you will contact me when you have succeeded."

Draco looked down at the sheet of parchment, which was covered from top to bottom in thin, spidery script. "You want to enter the castle," he said. "Why? To what end?"

Bellatrix laughed. "To support _you_, Draco, of course, in the greatest act you are ever likely to perform."

Draco's heart began to pound a hard rhythm in his chest. "What?" he asked, knowing he would hate the answer.

"You, my dear nephew, will have the honor of killing Albus Dumbledore."

* * *

><p>That night, Draco slipped quietly out of bed, pulled on his clothes and a jacket, and slid into his shoes.<p>

He stood beside his bed for several long moments, staring down at Ginny. She slept soundly; she hadn't had a nightmare in weeks. Her hair was splayed out on the pillow and across her face, and the sheet was pulled up to her chin, but it clung to her so that he could just make out the outline of her limbs beneath. She turned slightly, moving instinctively toward the warm space where his body had been.

He forced himself to turn away.

As he climbed the stairs to the seventh floor, he thought how strange it was that there had been a time, not so long ago, when he would have relished a task like this one, and the power that would come with success. He would have taken it willingly, _enthusiastically_, and he wouldn't have needed the threat of his parents' deaths and his own to persuade him.

He was a Malfoy, after all, and he had craved a chance to follow in his father's footsteps, to prove his allegiance to the Dark Lord and blood purity and –

But now….

He thought of Ginny, and of how vehemently he had wanted her to refuse the task the Dark Lord had given her.

_The Dark Lord does not intend to kill her…not yet, anyway_, Bellatrix had said. _He wants her alive to see Dumbledore and Potter defeated_. But what about after? After Dumbledore and Potter were dead? Then he would want her dead, or worse, and there would be no one left to protect her.

Unless….

Unless _he_ was high in the Dark Lord's esteem. Unless he completed this task and asked for her safety, for her life…as a favor to a loyal servant.

He had reached the entrance to the Room of Requirement, and he closed his eyes, thought of a hiding place. When he opened them, the door was before him, and he pushed it inward. He glanced up and down the empty corridor, then stepped inside.

His eyes found it immediately. The moon shone through the single slit-window at the far end of the room, and the cabinet loomed tall and dark in the half-light. He crossed the space to stand before it, and its shadow seemed to envelop him in darkness.

The page of notes and spells that Bellatrix had given him was burning a hole in the inner pocket of his jacket.

He wondered if all his thoughts, all his rationalizations about protecting Ginny if Potter lost…. He wondered if they were just that: rationalizations. Maybe they were just excuses. Maybe he was nothing more than a coward.

He honestly didn't know.

He closed his eyes for a moment, steeling himself, then set his jaw.

And drew his wand.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Sorry for the wait. A big segment of this chapter needed re-writes. I would love to hear your thoughts on everything that happened, and on Draco's task (and his thoughts about his task) especially. So please leave a review!


	32. The Cabinet

**Chapter 32: The Cabinet**

_A week later_

Draco lay flat on his back in bed, his gaze fixed on the darkness of the canopy above. Around him, the dormitory was quiet but for the rhythmic snorts and grunts of Crabbe and Goyle's snoring. He knew that it must be past three by now, but he couldn't shut his eyes. He hadn't been able to all night. He just stared and stared into the shadows, mind racing.

He'd gone to the cabinet three more times this week – twice after everyone was asleep and once between the last class of the day and Quidditch practice, when Ginny had had O.W.L. revision and Blaise had been…_busy_ with Livia Reardon. It had only taken him a few hours to get through all of the simpler spells on Borgin's list, and then he'd tried every variation on the Mending Charm that he could find in Goshawk's Charms textbooks _and_ in Flitwick's supplements. So far, nothing had worked.

He'd been using apples to test the cabinet after each attempt; they were easy to take out of the Great Hall without raising questions, and any injury they sustained would be obvious as imperfections on their smooth surfaces. He wanted the fruit to disappear entirely, because that meant it had likely reappeared on the other end and he could arrange for Borgin to send it back. But twice he'd re-opened the cabinet door to find the apple missing a large chunk. Once, long, deep gouge marks had appeared along the base, and another time it had withered to a grotesque, decomposing black. Dozens of times nothing had happened at all.

He exhaled and slid the lower half of his body out from beneath the sheet, which had been draped haphazardly across his waist. The simple spells were just that: simple – _too_ simple. If any of them had been the solution, Borgin would have found a way to do it himself by now. No, he had to continue with Borgin's list, had to move on to the more complicated suggestions.

Beside him, Ginny stirred slightly where she was curled in the crook of his shoulder. She shifted so that she was turned away from him, the bare skin of her back warm against his side.

With one smooth movement, he disentangled his arm and slipped from the bed.

Two and a half hours later found him pacing in the Room of Requirement, the cabinet looming high above him and Borgin's sheet of parchment gripped hard in his left hand. He'd made _no_ progress. The next four spells on the list were incredibly complicated…the wand movements alone had taken ages to decipher from the old man's mess of arrow diagrams. Some of the ones further down he didn't even recognize. It would take him weeks to learn them, to perfect them, if not months….

Draco sank down in an old, rickety wooden chair propped nearby, and rubbed his palms agitatedly over his face. He should go back to the dormitory. He was tired – trying anything else right now would be useless. And if he wasn't there when Ginny woke up, she'd ask questions.

He was under no illusions about how she would react if he told her the truth. She wouldn't understand about his parents – she'd always hated them – and she'd tell him, like she always did, that she didn't fucking need protecting. She'd tell him to do what she'd done – go to Dumbledore, tell him everything, throw himself at the mercy of _Potter_ and the bloody Order. He couldn't help sneering at the thought.

And when he refused, she'd paint it as betrayal. He knew she would. His chest tightened, and he set his jaw.

Everyone thought Potter's life was so hard, he thought acidly. They were wrong; Potter's life was _dangerous_, yes, but it wasn't _hard_. It was easy…simple. Scarhead saw everything in black and white. Everything fit into easy categories: good or evil, right or wrong, and there was no blurry middle ground. He had no mixed loyalties to contend with, was never pulled in more than one direction. And that didn't make him a hero. Really, he thought derisively, the only thing _heroic_ about Potter was that he hadn't made a run for it yet, and Draco was more inclined to chalk that up to stupidity.

He felt a sudden wave of exhaustion. He wondered what time it was now. Five? Six? His vision swirled, and he shut his eyes – _Merlin_, had they been aching like this all this time? He let his head fall forward into his hands.

He really should get back to the dormitory. He had a vague feeling that he was forgetting something….

But before he could finish his thought, sleep overtook him.

* * *

><p>"Where the hell is he?" Blaise said to the room, slamming his locker door shut with a loud clang.<p>

"Merlin, Zabini, calm down," Ginny replied. She shoved her pile of clothes into her own locker and pulled hard on the end of her ponytail to secure the elastic against her skull. "He'll be here."

"But where is he _now_?" he demanded.

Ginny shrugged, trying to look unconcerned. She nudged her shoulder reassuringly against his. Blaise rarely got this frustrated about anything, and even though he had every right to be – the game was supposed to have started ten minutes ago, and their bloody Seeker was no where to be found – they both knew he wouldn't play well this agitated.

And neither would she, for that matter, she thought wryly. She exhaled and tried to push down the growing feeling of unease at the base of her stomach. Draco hadn't been in bed when she'd woken up this morning. And the space beside her had been cold, meaning he'd been gone for a while. No one had seen him leave the dormitory, and he hadn't shown up at breakfast either. She swallowed. For all intents and purposes, he was missing. He could be anywhere….

_Bloody hell_, why did her mind always jump to possibilities of maiming and death when Draco was missing in action? He'd probably gone down to breakfast early and then to the library or something, and now he'd lost track of the time.

She forced herself to turn back to Blaise. "He's probably off polishing his broomstick," she said deliberately.

That made him grin. "That was a shitty double entendre, Weasley. And here I thought I'd taught you better than that."

She smiled back, pleased with her efforts. "I knew you'd enjoy it."

Just then, Madam Hooch ducked her head around the locker room doorway. "Zabini," she said sharply, "I said _now_. No more stalling."

"Fuck," Blaise cursed as she disappeared back around the corner.

"Come on." Ginny swung her Cleansweep over her shoulder and directed him out of the room. The rest of the team strode out after them. The Slytherin section erupted into cheers as they re-grouped in front of Madam Hooch.

"Good of you to join us," the Ravenclaw Captain said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Blaise shot him a rude gesture. Ginny glanced back toward the castle, half expecting to see Draco coming down the steps.

"What was that you were saying about him being here?" Blaise asked near her ear.

She swallowed down another bout of anxiety and met his eyes. "Nothing for it," she replied. "Put Urquhart in my place," she added, knowing he'd want her to play Seeker.

He made a face, then nodded and gestured for Urquhart to come up from reserves. He glanced at the Ravenclaws. "Think you can beat Chang?"

Ginny arched an eyebrow at him. "Please."

He laughed. Madam Hooch blew her warning whistle. As they swung their legs over their brooms, he made a frustrated sound. "But where the hell _is_ that wanker?" he said, raising his voice to be heard over the increased din of the crowd.

"Why are you asking _me_?" she yelled back. "You're the one who's supposed to keep him in line."

"You're the one who's _shagging_ him!" he returned. "And I hope you enjoyed yourself last night, because I'm going to fucking kill him later."

The starting whistle blew, and Ginny laughed as they took to the air. Blaise zipped immediately away from her. "Be my guest," she called after him, and she saw him grin broadly. "Be my guest," she repeated under her breath. She made a frustrated sound. "Dammit, Draco…," she murmured, not bothering to mask her anxiety and irritation now that Blaise was out of hearing range.

With no small effort, she forced herself to stop thinking about Draco and began to scan for that telltale golden glimmer.

* * *

><p>Draco rounded the corner at the far end of the hall just as they reached the top of the dungeon steps. Ginny felt an immediate wave of relief, and she exhaled heavily.<p>

"Where the _fuck_ were you?" Blaise demanded loudly, catching the Quaffle he'd been tossing from hand to hand in his right palm.

Draco froze for an instant, and she watched realization cross his features. "Shit." He crossed the last few paces to them. "Who did you use?"

"Who do you think? And he couldn't follow orders for his life. We're just lucky Weasley caught the Snitch before he _completely_ fucked us over." He raised an expectant eyebrow. "Well?"

"Crabbe and Goyle were snoring so loudly they sounded like wounded hippogriffs," Draco replied. The words flowed easily enough, but his tone seemed forced, and Ginny saw that his fingers had gone unnaturally rigid at his side. He was lying. "I couldn't sleep, so I went to the Room of Requirement." He rolled his eyes. "Overslept. Like a moron." He met Blaise's gaze. "I'm sorry."

Blaise's eyebrows went up even further. He considered Draco, his lips setting into a tight line. Obviously he didn't believe it either. But after several long seconds, he just shrugged. "If you were anyone else, you'd be off the team. You should be grateful you're more tolerable than Urquhart, you _arse_." He shoved the Quaffle hard into Draco's arms to punctuate his statement.

"Isn't _everyone_ more tolerable than Urquhart?" Draco mused.

Blaise rolled his eyes, but his lips tilted into a smile. "It's not an exclusive club, no. Nothing to write your mum about. I'm going to shower," he added. He descended the dungeon steps two at a time, and turned at the lower landing. "Good game, _Weasley_," he said pointedly, nodding to her and shooting Draco one last glare. Draco rolled his eyes and laughed lightly as Blaise disappeared toward the Common Room entrance.

Ginny whirled to face him. "That story was such bullshit even _Goyle_ wouldn't believe it, let alone me and Zabini."

He stiffened. "I overslept," he repeated.

"Because Crabbe and Goyle were snoring too loudly," she said skeptically.

He barked out a mirthless laugh. "_Yes_. They were snoring, so I went to the Room of Requirement, and I overslept. What's not to believe?"

"And now we've established that it's not any less bullshit the third time around," she replied. She crossed her arms over her chest and quirked an eyebrow at him.

"Merlin, Ginny, since when do you give me the third degree?"

"Well, Zabini didn't, so –"

"Maybe you should try that," he said sharply.

She sobered, and her brows went up to her hairline. She'd been half-teasing; now that she knew he was safe, she wasn't nearly as irritated as she'd been this morning. She hadn't expected the defensiveness. "Draco, what's going on?" she asked flatly. She reached out to put a palm on his arm, but he turned away just before they touched. She pulled her hand back to her side.

He shook himself, rubbed his palms hard over his face. "Nothing's going on, Gin," he firmly, and after a moment, he met her eyes and smiled reassuringly. "I'm sorry, I'm just exhausted."

She held his gaze critically, but he didn't look away. She sighed and pressed one last time. "Draco, if there's something –"

"There's not."

"Fine."

They fell silent. Draco turned away again, and Ginny kept her eyes trained on his profile.

"You know what I don't understand?" he said after a long moment.

"What?"

"Why Potter doesn't just leave."

Her eyebrows went up. She wasn't sure what she'd been expecting him to say, but that definitely wasn't it. But after a pause she just replied, "I asked him that once."

"And?"

"He asked if I meant – why doesn't he run away?" A smile ghosted over her lips at the memory. But then her brow furrowed. Harry hadn't really answered her question…just said cryptic things about…. "He _can't_," she said thoughtfully. "That's what he said. He has to finish it."

Draco was staring at her now, an unfathomable expression on his face. "What did he mean?" he asked.

"I don't know," she answered slowly. "It was like he didn't have a choice."

* * *

><p><em>Two months later, mid-April<em>

"Ginny?"

Ginny looked up from where she was flipping unenthusiastically through her Herbology textbook. Harry was standing a few feet away, a surprised look on his face.

"What're you – ?" he continued, glancing back to the Gryffindor portrait hole he'd just exited. "You're not looking for me, are you?"

She grinned. "Don't flatter yourself, Potter." She shifted in the small stone alcove to make room for him. "No," she continued as he sank down beside her, "I'm waiting for Neville. We're going out to the greenhouses tonight." She made a face and lifted the book in her lap so he could read the title. "He's helping me study with Herbology. O.W.L.s coming up."

"Ah, right," he replied, nodding sagely. "Careful with that one. Not as easy as it looks."

"I _heard_ that the Great Harry Potter was defeated by a Fanged Geranium," she teased. She pulled her legs up onto the seat to dodge his kick. "Hey! No need to be a sore loser," she laughed.

"I'll have you know it was only a _minor_ bite, thanks very much," he replied, grinning.

She sighed theatrically. "That's what they all say. There's no shame in defeat, Harry," she added, giving him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.

He laughed aloud. "Trust me, if six years of being _demolished_ by Ron in chess have taught me anything, it's that."

Ginny pulled her knees up to her chest and folded her arms around them, relaxing back against wall behind. She exhaled contentedly. She'd missed this. It had been months since she and Harry had had a proper conversation. He'd been busier than usual with the Quidditch captaincy and meetings with Dumbledore, and she'd been occupied herself, with O.W.L. revision and spending time with Draco….

If she was being honest, she realized, she'd been avoiding him. Not actively, just…. She hadn't been going out of her way to see him. She'd realized she hadn't told him that she and Draco were together now, and for some reason, she dreaded the conversation. Rumors were rife, and she grimaced at what Harry must have heard. But as usual, she, Draco, and Blaise hadn't confirmed or denied anything to anyone. She knew she had nothing to be ashamed of, nothing to feel guilty about, but she couldn't help thinking about Slughorn's Christmas party, and how she'd insisted there was nothing going on between them.

"Where is Ron anyway? And Hermione?" she asked finally.

He made a frustrated sound. "Oh, still in the Common Room," he said, gesturing toward the portrait hole. He rolled his eyes. "Luckily, I've got a meeting with Dumbledore in," – he glanced at his watch – "three minutes, so I've escaped. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for everyone else in there."

Her eyebrows went up. "I thought they made up after Ron and Brown…." For a week after Valentine's Day, all anyone had been able to talk about was the screaming break up that had taken place outside the Three Broomsticks. "…ended things," she finished. She had a sudden thought. "Oh, Merlin…. Are they snogging each other's faces off?"

He laughed. "Hardly. They're just arguing."

"So things aren't back to normal then? Too bad."

He shot her a look. "For Ron and Hermione, normal _is_ arguing."

She grinned. "Ironically, they're kind of perfect for each other," she mused. "It's only a matter of time before they _start_…."

"Snogging each other's faces off," Harry agreed. "I know."

"What're you going to do when it happens?" she asked. "You'll have a lot more free time, I suspect."

He shrugged. "Get a new hobby?"

She thought of Blaise and his string of girls. "Or get a girlfriend of your own," she mused off-hand. She immediately regretted saying it. It was too close to the topic she was trying to avoid, and a glance at Harry told her he'd had the same thought.

"Ginny…." he began, meeting her eyes. She knew what he was going to ask, and she knew he had a right to know, but –

"Ginny!" She breathed a sigh of relief and grinned as Neville stumbled out of the portrait hole. "I'm sorry I'm late," he continued. "I accidentally knocked my wand under the sofa, and I couldn't find – Harry!" He spotted Harry sitting beside her, and his smile widened. "I thought you said you were going –"

"I am," Harry said quickly, grinning back. He stood. "I'll let you two get to it. Watch your back in the greenhouses, Ginny," he added cheekily as he headed away down the hall.

"Especially around the Geraniums?" she returned. He laughed. She turned smiling to Neville.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Absolutely," she replied, and they started off in the other direction.

* * *

><p>The apple was missing its stem and a bite-sized chunk of its side.<p>

Draco felt a sudden, burning anger flare in his chest. It blazed up his throat until he felt like he was choking on it, and with a frustrated sound, he threw the apple as hard as he could against the far wall, where it collided with a dull thud. He slammed his palm against a low table to his right; several items were dislodged from the precarious stack on its surface, and they clattered loudly to the floor.

His heart was running riot in his chest, and his breath was coming in ragged gasps.

He stood rigid and silent, trying to regain his composure. Nothing was working. He was halfway through the list of more complex spells on Borgin's parchment, and absolutely _nothing_.

After several long moments, he managed to slow his breathing, and he straightened his jacket. He bent to pick up the things that had fallen – a small, engraved jewelry box, a delicate-looking tiara, and a stack of yellowing envelopes – and replaced them on the table. He sank down into the chair beside it.

Then he glanced at the envelopes again and had a sudden thought. He drew a different envelope from his inner jacket pocket. It was from his mum, and he'd gotten it at breakfast this morning. But Narcissa hadn't bothered with an _Arcana verba_, and Ginny had been sitting right next to him. She already knew something was going on – she hadn't believed a word of the story he'd given after the Ravenclaw game, and every once in a while he caught her watching him with a strange look in her eyes. He couldn't afford to let her glance over and see his mother referring in a vague terms to what he was doing.

His eyes skimmed over the parchment.

_Darling,_

_How are you? You have become unforgivably lax in your letter-writing, but fortunately, your aunt has been keeping me informed. You should know that I have contacted Severus. I have not given him details, but I have asked him to help you in any way possible. He has bound himself – indeed, he has vowed – to do so. I have every faith in you, my dear, but he may be useful. _

_Stay strong. Write to me, and write to your father – your apparent reluctance to put quill to paper is, as you can imagine, very disagreeable to him._

She had signed her name – Narcissa Malfoy – in her usual large, looping letters beneath. He had the sudden, strange realization that she never signed herself "Mother."

The letter had all the hallmarks of his mother's correspondence. Concern, mixed with thinly-veiled disapproval – this time, at the infrequency of his letters. And that bit about his father…. He smiled dryly. He had a feeling that "disagreeable" was not quite the word Lucius would have used.

But the most interesting thing was what she had said about Snape. She'd chosen her words carefully, so he would know what she meant. Somehow, she'd gotten Snape to swear an Unbreakable Vow. Draco wasn't sure what to think of that.

After scanning it one last time, Draco crumpled the parchment in his fist and murmured a quick spell to incinerate it.

But it hardly mattered. He couldn't think about Snape now, and anyway, what would a _Potions_ professor know about repairing Vanishing Cabinets?

No, he thought, forcing his mind back to the matter at hand. He'd been going about it all wrong. There was no way it was _just_ a mechanical problem. The connection between the two twins wasn't like a pipe that had been cut in half. It needed more than simple welding to close the gap. Something else was wrong too…something to do with the cabinets' ability to _recognize_ each other….

He glanced at his watch. He'd been here an hour and a half. Ginny would be done studying Herbology with Longbottom soon, and he wanted to be back in the dungeons by the time she got back.

He threw another spell at the fallen apple and exited the room as it burst into flames.

Outside the hall was empty. He shoved his hands into his pants pockets as he rounded the corner, and –

"Mr. Malfoy."

He stopped short. Speak of the devil. Snape stood a few feet away, his arms crossed over his chest and his body swathed in his usual severe, black robes.

"Headed back to the dungeons, I hope," Snape said coolly. "It is nearly after hours."

"Nearly," Draco agreed, just as coolly, "but not quite." He still had fifteen minutes left.

"And where were you?" Snape asked.

"The library," he said easily.

Snape's brow twitched. "Is that so?" He paused, his lips curving into the barest hint of a smile. Or maybe that was just a trick of the light. "You know, Mr. Malfoy," he continued after a moment, "you are not nearly as clandestine as you believe."

Draco stiffened, but he kept his expression carefully neutral. He focused his eyes on the space behind Snape's right shoulder. Snape was a Legilimens, but he knew from Ginny that for all but the most skilled, eye contact was indispensable. He still hadn't decided how much to confide in Snape – for now, he couldn't see the point of confiding _anything_ – and he'd be damned if Snape got it out of his unwilling mind. "Excuse me, Professor?" he asked.

"You have been…roaming these halls in the marked absence of Mr. Zabini and Miss Weasley quite frequently over the past few months. And your destination has certainly _not_ been the library."

Draco didn't respond, and after a beat Snape continued. "If I can see through your frankly rather clumsy lies, then others can as well."

Draco thought of Ginny and Blaise, but all he said was, "_Others_ do not have the benefit of my _mother_ revealing things directly to them."

Snape's lips pursed into a thin line. "Touché, Mr. Malfoy," he conceded. "We will dispense with the games. If you will give me some sense of what you have been…asked to do, then I will do my best to help you, as I've promised to do."

Draco shook his head. "There's no need for that, Professor," he said, voice flat. "Not now, in any case."

Snape looked taken aback. "Your mother led me to believe that you were in dire straits," he said, and the edge of distaste in his voice, as if he had been wholly unsurprised to learn that Draco was failing, made the anger that was always just below the surface now simmer up to his lips.

"Clearly, _you_ are not nearly as well-informed as you believe," he said.

"Watch your tone, Mr. Malfoy," Snape said sharply. "There is no one in the castle who knows as well as I do how _serious_ a situation you are in."

Draco forced down a harsh retort. Snape had no fucking _idea_. Maybe he understood the terror of the Dark Lord, the pressure of the task, the fear for himself and his family. But Ginny... That was a complication that Snape didn't - _couldn't_ - understand.

"Then you will be pleased to know that it is progressing well enough," he lied finally. "Without you." He waited a moment, but Snape didn't seem to have a response. "I should get back to the dungeons, Professor," he said, voice clipped and laced with sarcasm. "I wouldn't want to be out after hours."

Snape stood stock still as Draco strode right past him and away down the corridor. But as he rounded the corner, someone shifted in the shadows. He looked up sharply.

"Potter," he hissed.

"Malfoy," Potter returned. Draco could practically see the cogs turning in his head, and he wondered how much the git had heard. Thank Merlin he hadn't told Snape anything important.

He fixed him with his coldest stare. Potter flinched, but held his gaze resolutely.

Draco ground out six harsh words. "Stay the fuck out of it."

But as he swept past, he felt a ball of anxiety form at the base of his stomach. Because he could _tell_ Potter to stay out of it...

But he knew he wouldn't.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Sorry this chapter is so short. There were several more scenes that I had planned to put in this chapter, but I have lots of work that I need to start for my thesis, and I wanted to post something for you guys to read before I dive into that. As it stands, this will be the last "filler-y" chapter before all hell breaks loose for our intrepid heroes (or misguided ones, as the case may be). Please review, and lots of love 'til next time! :)


	33. Confirmation

**Chapter 33: Confirmation**

_A month and a half later, late May_

The usual rush of cool air and wing-flapping announced the arrival of the morning mail.

Draco spotted Ares immediately, and he felt a flash of irritation. How many fucking letters did his mother and Bellatrix have to send him? Did they think he needed to be _reminded_ how little progress he'd made on that fucking cabinet? How little time was left in the term? What was going to happen to him and his parents if –

"You all right?" Blaise asked suddenly from beside him, cutting off his train of thought.

"What?" He realized that his left hand was clenched into a tight white fist atop the table. Blaise was looking at him expectantly, and Ginny was staring at him from across the table, eyebrows raised. "Yeah, I'm fine," he added quickly, extending his fingers. His nails had dug little crescents into his palm. He suppressed a wince and lifted his cup to his lips instead.

Blaise shrugged. "Anyway," he continued, drawing Ginny's attention back to whatever they'd been talking about…something about Blaise's inability to find new places to shag Livia Reardon. Draco hadn't really been listening, and to be honest, he didn't really care. He'd been occupied lately – if he didn't figure out what was wrong with the Vanishing Cabinets in the next month….

He didn't have time for Blaise's trivial, little issues.

Ares dropped the letter neatly on the table in front of him and glided away again. Draco tried his best to look casual as he slid the envelope into the inner pocket of his robes. He'd stopped reading letters in the Great Hall weeks ago. He knew it only made Ginny and Blaise more suspicious, but it was better than risking them catching a glimpse of something important.

"Another mysterious letter?" Blaise asked. He took the last bite of his toast and smirked. "You're lucky Weasley isn't a jealous woman."

"Mm," Ginny replied, taking a sip of juice and setting her cup down with a clink. She fixed Draco with a steady stare. "For now."

Draco knew her well enough to catch the underlying impatience.

He also knew that he wasn't fooling either of them for a second: they both knew something was wrong, something he wasn't telling them. Blaise wouldn't press; Draco had kept plenty of things to himself over the years, and Blaise was nonchalant enough to let it go. But Ginny…. His sharp defensiveness was only going to keep her at bay for so long. She was willing to give him space, but he could tell she was getting tired of it.

He forced himself to hold her gaze. "It's from my mum," he said.

"All of them?" she asked pointedly.

His lips set into a thin line. "Yeah, all of them," he replied, voice stiff.

"Oh, so that's why you've been so secretive about them."

"It's nothing, all right?" he said sharply. He realized he'd spoken too loudly. Students nearby had turned to stare.

But Ginny looked unfazed. Her gaze was still fixed on him, her eyes hard and penetrating. "It's _nothing_ quite a lot lately, isn't it?" she replied coolly. Then, in one swift movement, she stood and shouldered her bag. "I better get to Charms," she said, and then she stalked off.

Blaise let out a low whistle. "I don't know what's going on," he said, turning and gesturing vaguely to where Draco had stowed the letter, "but you better get your shit together, mate."

"Afraid she'll kill me?" he asked dryly. If only Blaise could understand the irony.

"Afraid she'll Bat-Bogey you," Blaise quipped. "And after seeing Urquhart writhing on the ground, I think that might be worse. Come on," he added, "we'll be late for Defense."

Draco shook his head. "You go ahead. I'll be there in a second."

Blaise arched an eyebrow, then shrugged and stood. "Suit yourself." He drummed his knuckles against the table as he moved away, but turned back at the last second. "Get your shit together," he repeated, with deliberate slowness this time.

He frowned. "Zabini –"

Blaise raised two hands in surrender. "And that's the last thing I'll say about it."

As soon as Blaise was gone, Draco pulled the envelope from his robes and ripped it open. Bellatrix this time, and she'd cast an _Arcana verba_. If there was one thing he'd learned about his aunt, it was that she didn't have his mother's ability to write vaguely. Bellatrix was blunt and crude. True to form, this letter was brief and to the point:

_The Dark Lord is displeased by your lack of success. As are your father and mother. They would like to remind you that there are lives – multiple lives – hanging in the balance._

Apparently they _did_ think he needed to be reminded. Draco felt a sudden stab of viciousness. He grabbed a quill, flipped the parchment over and scrawled in hard, violent strokes across the back.

_Stop writing, and tell my mother to do the same. A letter a week is excessive, and it draws attention. I will write when I have something to report. As for my father, remind __him__ why we are out of the Dark Lord's favor in the first place._

He didn't sign, just stuffed the sheet bodily back into its envelope and shoved it back into his robes as he stood. He would send it after classes.

Snape gave him a withering look as he entered the Defense classroom ten minutes later. "Good of you to join us, Mr. Malfoy," he sneered.

"No problem, Professor," Draco replied, voice flat. Retorts were always right on the edge of his tongue these days, and he didn't have the will or the energy to keep them down. Especially not after this morning's confrontation with Ginny, and especially when it came to Snape. The smug bastard was probably _enjoying_ the fact that he couldn't figure out the fucking cabinet.

Snape's eyes narrowed. "See me after class," he said shortly.

Draco didn't respond to that, just sank down in the empty seat next to Blaise and up against the far wall. He shifted slightly to lean back against the stone, relishing the feel of the coolness through his robes. Merlin, he was exhausted. He hadn't slept a full night in weeks.

His eyes were just about to fall closed when he felt a twinge of discomfort and turned to see Potter staring at him. His gaze was calculating and unmistakably hostile. He glanced away when he realized he'd been caught, but a few moments later, when Draco's eyes _had_ slid shut, he could feel Potter's eyes boring into his skull once more. His jawline tightened with annoyance.

Just as he'd suspected, the wanker couldn't leave well enough alone.

The hour passed agonizingly slowly. Draco kept his eyes shut for most of the period, but his mind just kept running its usual circles around the cabinet, Borgin's list – which he'd completed, two weeks ago – his mother and father, Bellatrix's eerie laugh issuing from the lips of the woman she'd killed, the Dark Lord's crimson gaze, the cabinet, Borgin's list….

His eyes ached beneath their lids.

Finally, Snape snapped the book he'd been reading from shut. "Twelve inches on the differences between the hexes I've just discussed. Due Friday," he said. Ignoring the groans that accompanied that statement, the professor swept his robes around himself and went to sit behind his desk.

"What did you do to piss Scarhead off?" Blaise asked, standing and shoving his textbook into his bag. "He spent the whole period staring at you."

"What makes you think I pissed him off?" Draco said wryly. "Maybe he fancies me."

Blaise let out a light laugh. "Because he was staring like he was trying to make your head explode by pure force of will."

Draco stood, shouldered his own bag. He shrugged as they started toward the door. "I'm pretty sure I don't have to _do_ anything to piss Scarhead off."

"Mm," Blaise mused, grinning, "probably enough that you're shagging Weasley."

Draco managed a smirk at that. "_Definitely_ enough." They'd reached the doorway, and Blaise was turning in the other direction. "Going to meet Livia?"

"Mr. Malfoy." Snape's voice halted him in the doorframe. "Did you think I'd forgotten your earlier impertinence?" Draco grit his teeth and turned back toward Snape's desk. Potter was on his way out, Weasley and Granger at his heels. Their shoulders knocked together, and Draco sneered.

Snape waited until the last of the students had filtered out. Then his gaze flicked to Draco, who was careful, as always, to keep his eyes trained on the wall behind the professor's shoulder.

"You do not look well, Mr. Malfoy," he said. He paused, then added significantly, "And it is beginning to be noticed."

Draco didn't answer.

The silence hung in the air for several long seconds before Snape finally gave in. "If you would only let me do what I have promised your mother I would –"

"No, _thank you_, Professor," Draco replied. There was no way in hell he was taking advice from Snape – not with his haughty, self-satisfied tone and the way he'd been watching him for the past six weeks, just waiting for him to come crying for help.

"Your mother expressly –"

"May I go, Professor?" Draco interjected.

Snape's eyes narrowed at the interruption. "Five extra inches on your essay for insolence," he sneered. "You may leave. But Mr. Malfoy," he added as Draco turned away. "You would do well to remember – pride comes before a fall."

Draco rolled his eyes as he left.

The hall outside was milling with students on their way to the next class. He glanced at his watch. Dammit. He was going to be late for the next –

He had a sudden thought. If he skipped the class entirely, he'd have a whole hour to himself and only Blaise to explain it to. He stopped short in the middle of the corridor.

"I'm _telling_ you, he's working on something – right now, and if we don't figure it out soon –"

He heard Potter's voice filtering out from an alcove to his right.

"Right now's a bit of an exaggeration, isn't it, Harry?" It was Granger. Draco moved three paces to the right so he could see them. They were standing just out of sight of the corridor in a little semi-circle. "We just sat through a whole class with him," Granger was saying. "I may have blinked once or twice, but I'm pretty sure he didn't cast any Unforgivables or summon Voldemort."

"I didn't mean this _instant_," Potter replied testily. "I meant he's up to something. I know he is. I don't know what it is, but I _do_ know that if we don't figure it out, it is going to –"

"Oh, come off it, Harry!" Weasley said. "He's…the _ferret_." Draco scowled. "Not some big, bad, evil…." He waved his arms vaguely. "…mastermind."

"Look," Potter said firmly. "I told you I ran into him and Snape, and Snape was offering to help him with something – something _serious_. And Malfoy said, 'Then you will be pleased to know that it is progressing well enough.' That's what he said."

"Harry," Granger said wearily. "You've already told us this. He could have been talking about _anything_ – an essay, a spell…. He could have been talking about…Quidditch for all we know."

"He wasn't talking about Quidditch, Hermione!" Potter said, voice rising. "He was talking about whatever task Voldemort's given him – his first task as a bloody Death Eater."

"What did I _just_ say about him not being an evil mastermind?" Weasley cut in.

"He doesn't have to be a mastermind to be a Death Eater, Ron," Potter said.

Weasley shrugged, grinning a little. "Fair."

Draco would have rolled his eyes if his stomach hadn't been roiling with anger. Why the hell couldn't Potter mind his own fucking business for once? He had enough on his plate right now without having to worry about the be-spectacled idiot stalking him through the halls.

"…and how many times has he been late to classes?" Potter was saying now. "And he looks like he hasn't slept in weeks. He's up to something, I'm telling you! His father's in prison for doing something Voldemort told him to do, remember? What makes you so sure Malfoy's not following in dear old dad's footsteps?"

Granger and Weasley exchanged a significant look.

"Look, Harry," Weasley said, his voice lower now, more placating, "We get it. Hell, anytime anything shitty happens, I assume he's got something to do with it. But we just think it's a bit far-fetched that Voldemort would use _Malfoy_ of all people to do something important. I mean, it's not like he doesn't have more capable followers." Draco scowled again. Bloody git.

Granger put a hand on Potter's arm. "And we understand…if this is about Ginny –"

Draco stiffened, and so did Potter. He pulled away. "What?"

Granger faltered. "I just mean –" she stammered. "I just mean, don't you think it's possible that you're particularly suspicious of Malfoy because everyone's talking about how he and Ginny are…you know…." She made a vague gesture.

"Shagging," Weasley said flatly. He made a face.

"They're not," Potter said. He'd gone rigid, and Draco felt a surge of self-satisfaction. It made him perversely happy to know that Potter had heard the rumors and that they clearly bothered him. "She told me so herself at Slughorn's Christmas party." Draco frowned at that. Even if he and Ginny hadn't been together then, they certainly were now. She should've told Potter that he didn't have a chance in hell anymore. She was taken.

"I was _going_ to say dating, Ron," Granger said, shooting him a glare.

"They're not," Potter repeated, but Granger continued over him.

"But either way, you have to admit it makes sense," she said, musing now. "It's hard to tell, because they've always been really…physical with each other…all the touching. And the innuendo and all that…."

"Not helping, Hermione," Potter said dryly.

"But they spend so much time together. I guess it was only ever a question of whether she'd end up…you know…."

"Shagging," Weasley supplied.

She shot him another glare. "_Dating_. Him or Zabini."

"_Look_," Potter said, giving them both a glare that brooked no argument. "I'm sure they're not shagging…or dating…or whatever else. I'm sure. But that doesn't matter. What I was trying to tell you is that Malfoy is up to something, and we _have_ to figure out what it is before it's too late."

"_Harry_…," Granger began again. Bloody hell. This time, Draco really did roll his eyes. They were so fucking ridiculous. How did they ever get anything done?

Just then, Draco glanced up and saw Ginny coming around the corner. She was grinning, and beside her, the Carrow twins were laughing at something she'd just said. He had a sudden cruel thought, and he smirked.

"Weasley," he said loudly – loudly enough that he was sure Potter, Granger, and Weasley could hear. He started down the corridor toward her.

She looked up and her expression immediately shifted to cool expectancy. She arched an eyebrow at him. "Malfoy," she returned coldly. "I'm on my way to class."

He ignored her – just closed the space between them and took her face between his palms. "Don't worry," he said with a smirk, "this will only take a second." And then he kissed her. Hard.

For a moment, she resisted – she was angry with him, after all – but he held her firmly, and somewhere between the moment when his right hand slid down to press her hard against him and the moment when his tongue slid into her mouth, she softened in his arms. A group of Fourth Year Slytherin boys who had been loitering nearby let out a string of wolf-whistles and catcalls.

Finally, he released her, and she stumbled back. After she recovered herself, she crossed her arms over her chest and glared. "Was that your way of apologizing for this morning?" she asked, trying for a full-on scowl and failing miserably.

He grinned. "Something like that."

Then, without another word of explanation, he turned on his heel and headed back down the corridor toward the Room of Requirement. Potter, Granger, and Weasley had emerged from the alcove and were staring at him, looking shell-shocked. His grin widened.

And as he passed Potter, he leaned in close. "Sure now?" he said in a low undertone. Potter gave him a look that was pure venom, and he shot him a wink.

Suddenly, he felt better than he had in weeks.

"Well," he heard Granger say as he walked away, "I guess that confirms it, then."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note<strong>: I know. This chapter is insanely, insanely short. But I've just submitted my thesis (holy heck!) and I'm going out of town tomorrow for a much-needed vacation, so I won't be able to write any more for another week at least. And I know you've waited for a really long time for an update, so I wanted to post what I have to let you know that I'm not dead :)

_But _on the exciting side, the end of my thesis means that we can all look forward – me to writing and you to reading – to _much_ more frequent chapter updates from here on out!

And one last thing – I'd like to put in yet another plea for reviews. The number of reviews has taken a real nose-dive over the last couple of chapters, even though traffic has stayed high. As I've said before, I'd love to hear what you think, whether you love what's happening or hate it. Just leave a few quick words – it really means a lot to me. Really. Let me know _you're_ not dead :)


	34. Sectumsempra

**Chapter 34: Sectumsempra**

The Gryffindor Common Room was dimming. Outside, the sun was dipping down to the horizon, and the long shafts of sunlight streaming through the windows were fading. Ginny glanced at the clock. The room was largely empty now, but dinner would be over soon. As if on cue, a group of giggling girls stumbled through the portrait hole and settled themselves on a ring of seats in the far corner.

She turned back to Neville, who was sitting beside her on the sofa, rummaging through his book bag. "Thanks for skipping dinner," she said.

"Are you kidding?" he replied, still digging. He tossed a few books aside. "I did it on purpose. I want to go to the kitchens with you later. You always manage to get the best stuff from the Elves. It's one of the world's great mysteries, I'm telling you."

She laughed. "What can I say? I have connections."

"_Got it!_" He produced a half-crumpled sheet of parchment from his bag and held it aloft, grinning triumphantly. "Those are the Latin names of the plants we worked with yesterday," he explained, unfolding it and spreading it clumsily over his knee in an attempt to smooth out the creases. "You're going to need to know them."

She took the sheet. "Thanks, Nev, you're a lifesaver."

He smiled broadly and settled back against the sofa as she scanned the list.

"So guess who my gran ran into at the Ministry the other day?" he asked conversationally.

"I don't know, who?"

"Well, she was having lunch with the head of the Department of Magical Education…."

"Wait – your gran knows the head of the Department of Magical Education?" Ginny asked, raising her eyebrows.

"My gran knows _everyone_," Neville replied. "Another one of the world's great mysteries."

"All the political controversy over Scrimgeour," she mused, "when behind the scenes, the government is _actually_ being run by Augusta Longbottom."

Neville laughed. "Anyway, she ran into Cho Chang while she was there – apparently she was interviewing for a position in education, for after graduation. Well, sort of. It was in regulation of underage wizardry, so it's half in education, half in Magical Law Enforcement."

"Sounds…," Ginny began.

"Horrible, I know," Neville supplied. "_Boring_."

She guffawed. "Neville Longbottom, I don't think I've ever heard you say something mean about anyone!"

"I'm not saying _she's_ boring, just her…career path. _Really_ boring. But apparently she's really interested in it."

"I hope so. I'm not sure she'll survive otherwise. Boredom kills, you know," she added. She shifted to press her back up against the arm rest and folded her legs beneath her. "Good for her, though." She had a sudden thought, and her smile faded.

He caught her expression. "What?"

"Nothing," she said, shaking herself. "It's just, I never see her off the Quidditch pitch, really, and I'm glad she's doing well. She really loved Ced – Cedric – I think."

Neville reached out and patted her shoulder gently. "Sorry…," he said haltingly, "I shouldn't have brought it up."

When she met his eyes, they were filled with concern and earnestness, and she shook herself again, rolling her own eyes self-deprecatingly. "No! Merlin…sorry, I don't know why I just thought of that." She forced herself to grin. "Anyway, what were we saying before…?"

"What? Oh!" he stammered, obviously having lost his train of thought. "Er…nothing important. It was just that I realized that I hadn't told Harry about it."

Ginny's brow furrowed. "Why would you have to tell Harry?"

Neville smiled broadly and nudged an elbow conspiratorially against her knee, but just as he opened his mouth to respond, there was a loud sound from the doorway. "Neville – game of Exploding Snap?"

A shape vaulted over the sofa back, and she recognized it as Seamus Finnegan as he collapsed on Neville's other side.

"You have _got_ to redeem yourself from last time, mate." Dean Thomas sank down on the armrest beside Ginny. "That was an embarrassment." He glanced down at Ginny, noticing her for the first time, and did a double take. "Oh," he said. "Hi."

She smiled. "Hi."

"I guess," Neville was saying. "As long as Seamus doesn't cheat this time. Ginny and I are pretty much done studying – right, Ginny?" She nodded.

"Hey!" Seamus raised his hands in mock offense. He turned to Ginny. "I do _not_ cheat. I'm just that good."

"I'm sure," she replied, noting with a grin that he was much friendlier now than he'd been when she'd first officially met him on the Hogwarts Express nearly two years ago.

He smiled broadly. "Hey, why don't you play too? I'm tired of beating these two – I could use a little challenge. And anyway," he added, voice lilting teasingly, "I'm sure Dean wouldn't mind, would you Dean?" He turned to his best friend and blinked several times in quick succession, all faux-innocence.

"Oh, sod off!" Dean replied, grabbing one of the sofa pillows off the ground and lobbing it at him. "Sorry," he said to Ginny, rolling his eyes. "We've only just started letting him out in public."

Ginny laughed as Seamus produced the pack of cards from his back pocket. She liked the dynamic of the three of them – it reminded her a bit of hanging out with Fred and George when she was a kid. Plus, she was glad of a distraction, and of a way to avoid going back to the Slytherin Common Room. She was _this close_ to murdering Draco, or at least to hurling hexes at him until he told her what the fuck was going on. Her patience was wearing dangerously thin.

"I was just telling Ginny about Harry and Cho when you came in," Neville said, interrupting her train of thought. He'd pulled out his wand to light the grate, and was leaning forward to pull the coffee table toward them.

Seamus and Dean let out a collective groan. "That absolute _wanker_," Seamus said, shaking his head as he laid the cards on the table. "Don't even get me started on –"

"Wait, _what_ is the story?" Ginny demanded.

"He asked her out for Valentine's last year," Dean explained.

"Did he now?" she said, her eyebrows going up to her hairline.

"Yeah, and they went to that place…," Neville continued, "…what is it called? With the…lace and the…frills…." He shivered, and Ginny laughed aloud.

"Madam Puddifoot's," Seamus responded, following up with a highly-realistic retching sound that only made Ginny laugh harder.

"Anyway, it went _miserably_," Dean continued. "Apparently she wasn't ready for a new relationship…." Ginny had to appreciate the way he avoided mentioning Cedric – probably just in case she'd get upset. That was sweet of him. She knew she'd gotten a good feeling about him two years ago. "…and Harry wasn't really sure he liked her much anyway."

"_But_, she's been dropping hints to him all year that she's wants to give it another go," Neville said, taking up the story with hardly a breath of pause. "We're convinced," he added firmly.

"And the _wanker_ won't take her up on it!" Seamus concluded. "You know, for someone who's so good at Defense and defeating dark wizards and all that, he is remarkably _shite_ with women." He shook his head mournfully.

"Oh, I don't know," Ginny put in speculatively. "He's a great kisser." She smirked as their mouths fell open.

"Wait, wait, wait," Seamus said, recovering first, "when did this – Harry!" His eyes slid past her to Harry, Ron, and Hermione, who had just climbed through the portrait hole. "You secret-keeping bastard!"

"What?" Harry said back, looking genuinely confused.

"I was just telling these three what a _fantastic_ kisser you are," Ginny said, twisting to grin at him over the back of the sofa.

"What're you on about?" Ron demanded as the trio crossed the room toward them.

"And what's this about Cho Chang?" she continued over him.

"I thought she'd know!" Neville said, raising his hands in preemptive defense. "You tell her everything!"

"Apparently not _everything_," she said, laughing up at Harry.

It took her a moment to realize that he wasn't laughing along. No, she realized, his expression was actually dark, and for one bewildered moment, she thought he was actually angry Neville, Seamus, and Dean had told her about Cho.

"Ginny, we need to talk," he started grimly, and her brow furrowed. Around them, the mood of the group deflated.

"Harry, I really don't think this is a good –" Hermione began, but Harry ignored her.

"Alone," he said firmly.

"Okay…," she said, standing uncertainly, and then she only just had time to stuff Neville's list of Latin plant names into her bag before Harry took her by the elbow and pulled her across the Common Room. She glanced back to where her Exploding Snap partners, Ron, and Hermione were watching them, expressions ranging from confusion to anxiety.

He dragged her up the boys' staircase and into what she could only assume was the Sixth Years' dormitory. A quick scan showed that it was exactly like the Slytherin one she knew so well, except for the deep red hangings in place of the green. And it was generally messier, which she supposed wasn't a surprise, given the occupants.

"Harry, what in Merlin's name is –" she started, turning to face him.

"You have to break it off with him," he cut in. His voice was harsh and deathly serious, and it took her a moment to take in the words. And then she understood, and she felt irritation flare in her chest.

"_What_?" she asked, dangerously low. Draco or Blaise would have heard the edge in her tone immediately, but Harry barreled on, heedless.

"With Malfoy," he said. He ran an anxious hand through his hair. Her brow furrowed – he was agitated, more agitated than she'd seen him since the night Sirius had died. "You have to break it off with him."

She had to force down a retort. "Harry, calm down, will you?" she said instead, grinding down her instinctive indignation. She thought suddenly of the look that had been on his face after Draco had kissed her in the corridor and exhaled grimly. She should have seen this coming. This was partially her fault, letting him find out like that. "If this is about this afternoon," she continued, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier that Draco and I are together. There were plenty of opportunities for me to mention it."

Harry shook his head. "It's not about Malfoy's little…performance earlier," he said, his jaw setting. Ginny frowned at his tone, annoyance building again. She'd never heard him sound so bitter…and she didn't like it.

"I've been friends with Draco for years, Harry," she said, not bothering to hide the edge this time. "Longer than I've been friends with you. So I'm not sure why you think you have the right to tell me what I _have_ to do with him _now_ of all moments."

"Because _now_ he's a bloody Death Eater!" he said fiercely.

She jerked involuntarily away. "What?"

"A Death Eater, Ginny," Harry repeated. "Unforgivable curses, _Morsmordre_…."

An uncomfortable tightness began to settle in her stomach. Ever since Draco had started to act…strangely, she'd wondered, in a part of herself she'd refused to acknowledge, if maybe…. But no, it wasn't possible. She'd committed herself to Harry's side. Draco would never become a Death Eater knowing that if Tom won, she'd lose Harry, one of her best friends, and _she_…. She'd be killed…or worse. He couldn't. She bit down hard on her lip.

"…and bloody Dark Marks. A Death Eater."

She latched onto his last words. "He doesn't have a Dark Mark," she said.

"How do you know?"

"How do you think, Harry?" she said, her tone more scoffing than she felt. "I've seen the inside of his forearm. He's not a fucking Death Eater."

"For now, maybe – but it's only a matter of time!" he burst out. He paused, took a breath, then met her eyes, his gaze bright green with earnestness. "Look, Ginny – you have to have noticed that he's up to something. He looks like he hasn't slept in weeks, he missed that Quidditch game, he's been late to classes – you might not know that, but he has, for weeks – he's being even more of a git than usual, which is saying something. And a month and half ago, I overheard a conversation between him and Snape. Snape was offering to help him with something serious, and Malfoy said it was progressing well."

Ginny felt her stomach sinking with each word, and then Harry reached out to grasp her by the arms, held her gaze. "If he's not a Death Eater now, Ginny, he will be soon. It's not safe for you to be with him."

He fell silent. She didn't know what to say, but after a moment, she managed to force her expression to cool skepticism. "I know him, Harry," she said, "better than anyone. Better than I know myself. He's not a Death Eater, and he's not going to become one. Stop trying to protect me from him."

And then, before he could answer, she turned on her heel and strode out of the room.

"Ginny," he said behind her. He made a frustrated sound, and a moment later, she heard him following her as she descended the staircase. "Ginny, come on!"

"Ginny?" Ron said as she crossed the Common Room. She ignored him and pushed out of the portrait hole.

"Harry, what happened?" she heard Hermione say as the portrait swung closed.

She felt frustration and anger – and fear – rising in her chest with every step she took through the corridors. By the time she reached the entrance hall, it was all in her throat, nearly choking her. Draco and Blaise were leaving the Great Hall, and she marched right up to them, grabbed Draco's arm and pulled him away from the flow of exiting students. Blaise followed.

"What the hell, Weasley?" he said, smoothing down his sleeve where her grip had wrinkled it.

"You know, broom cupboards are better than corridors for this kind of thing," Blaise commented, and Draco laughed.

"This is not a fucking joke, Malfoy," she snapped.

His smile fell, and she watched understanding pass over his features. He rolled his eyes and let out an annoyed sigh. "Ginny, I really don't have time for the third degree right now –" he began.

"Shut up," she said, and she watched a flash of anger cross his expression at that. She knew she was probably going about this in the wrong way, and she knew this wasn't the right time – Blaise was still standing there, his eyebrows nearly to his hairline – but she found that she didn't care. She'd been growing more and more suspicious, more and more anxious, for months, and after her confrontation with Harry….

She barreled forward. "There's something going on," she said, "something you're not telling us. And I'm fucking tired of it."

"There is _nothing_ going on!" Draco retorted, his voice harsh.

"Bullshit!" she responded. "That is such fucking bullshit." She was vaguely aware that she was talking too loudly. People were turning to stare, stopping in the middle of the hall to watch the confrontation. But that didn't matter. This conversation mattered. "You've been acting _off_ for months. _Everyone's_ noticed, so don't stand there and tell the two of _us_ –" she gestured between herself to Blaise – "that there's nothing going on."

"I don't know how many times I can say it, Ginny," he replied. His voice was getting quieter, harder, even as hers was getting louder, more uncontrolled. "_I'm_ getting really tired of this."

"Are you doing a task for him?" she asked. She didn't have to name Tom for Draco to know what she meant.

His eyes flashed at that. "No," he said firmly. "I'm done having this conversation, Ginny. You sound fucking hysterical."

That made her even angrier, but she just managed to swallow it down. "Draco," she said, her voice low and thin now. "I of all people know what happens when you let him get into your head." She grit her teeth. "He'll destroy you."

There was a beat of silence. Blaise didn't say anything, didn't ask any questions, and she wondered, not for the first time, what he had deduced about the two of them and the Dark Lord. Maybe he didn't know the details, but he knew his best friends, and so he probably knew enough. And Draco just met her gaze unflinchingly, his eyes cold silver.

"Thanks for the lecture, Ginny," he hissed after a long moment, and now he sounded cruel. "But I'm pretty sure I'm not being possessed by the Dark Lord." He paused significantly. "Some of us are smart enough to tell the difference."

She inhaled sharply, and Blaise covered a disbelieving sound with a cough.

"That was over the line, Malfoy," said a voice from behind them. Harry was standing a few paces behind. She wondered how much he'd heard.

Draco let out a mean laugh. "Of course. Saint Potter to the rescue," he sneered. "I should have known you had something to do with this."

Harry opened his mouth to retort, but Ginny cut him off. "It's fine, Harry," she said. She turned back to Draco. His words had snapped something inside her back into control, and her voice was cold as ice now. "Fuck you," she spat. "That was a low blow and you know it."

His jaw set, but he didn't respond. And then, after another taut moment, he strode past her and away down the corridor.

* * *

><p>Draco leaned over the porcelain sink of Moaning Myrtle's loo, gripping its edges so hard that his knuckles were white. His heart was pounding like a jackhammer in his chest. His throat was burning, and he tasted bile on his tongue. He felt like he was going to vomit.<p>

_I'm pretty sure I'm not being possessed by the Dark Lord. Some of us are smart enough to tell the difference._

The words, and the cruelty in his voice as he'd said them, echoed in his mind, mixing somehow with the accusation in Ginny's. And with Bellatrix's laugh and the Dark Lord's silken tones. It all rang against his eardrums. He let out a harsh dry-heave, tried to regain his breath.

He was going to fail. The realization of it nearly made his knees buckle. He'd tried everything he could think of to make the cabinet work, and he had nothing – _nothing_ – to show for it but dozens and dozens of warped and deformed apples. He was going to fail, and he was going to die along with his parents. And Ginny….

She would die too – die hating him for keeping this from her when it was supposed to be the two of them against the world – die hating him for saying those words to her after everything they had been through.

He dry-heaved again, his eyes filling with the pain and breathlessness of it.

He was going to fail, and he was going to lose everything.

And then he heard a sound behind him – the light scrape of a shoe against the tiled floor. "Gin, I –" he began, turning.

"You may have her fooled, Malfoy," Potter said, "but I'm not." He was standing on the other side of the room, and Draco had two sudden, fleeting thoughts. He thought first of the last time he and Potter had been in this room together – with Githead and Lockhart, right before they'd descended into the Chamber to save Ginny. And then of the fact that if Scarhead had half a brain, he'd have realized that Ginny had clearly never been fooled. Not for a second.

And then he saw that Potter's hand was lingering, tense, next to his right pocket – next to his wand.

And before he quite knew what he was doing, Draco's hand was at his robes and he was drawing his own wand and –

"_Expelliarmus!_" Potter yelled.

Draco didn't have time to cast a defensive spell. He dove left behind a ring of tall sink fixtures, heard Potter moving forward into the room.

He threw a Knee-Reversal Hex around the corner of one of the sinks, heard its porcelain crack as Potter retaliated. His blood was pounding in his ears – pounding so loudly that he couldn't hear his own thoughts, could only register Potter's movements and the syllables and wand flicks of his own curses.

He darted around the ring, ducked low to avoid a hex that blasted a piece of the sink above him clean off, sending water spraying from a broken tap and onto the floor. He threw a Bat-Bogey Hex at Potter's side.

"_Protego!_" Scarhead shouted, turning to face him head-on. Potter raised his wand, and Draco realized that his own back was to the door and there was nothing between them, nothing to hide behind, a shield was only temporary, no, he needed something stronger, something that would make Potter hurt –

The next syllables slid off his tongue with surprising ease.

"_Cruci_–"

"Draco, NO!" He heard her voice before he saw her, and then there was a blur of red hurtling at him, pushing him to the floor to knock his wand from his hand –

"_Sectumsempra!_"

And then Ginny was beside him on the cold tile, and it took a beat for his mind to register that there was blood beneath her, surrounding her, mixing with the water pooling on the ground like some kind of horrible watercolor painting, and she was making an awful choking sound, and he looked up and saw that there was red bubbling from her lips.

"Ginny!" The anguish in Potter's voice jerked him out of his shock.

"_Fuck_, Gin," he said, shifting so that she was half in his lap. "Gin, Gin, Gin…." he said, repeating her name in a desperate litany. There was a long gash running from her chest and up her throat and, oh _Merlin_, there was blood everywhere, _her_ blood, so much that it was soaking into his shirt and he could feel it warm on his skin…she was making that horrible choking sound again, and her eyes were filling and so were his so that she was just a blurry, bleeding shape in his arms…. He didn't know what this was, didn't know the counterspell, she was dying, _right now_, and he couldn't save her…. "Potter, _do something_!" he yelled.

And then a dark-robed figure rushed into view and was murmuring a spell. "_Vulnera Sanentur_," Snape was saying, and then the same incantation once more, and a third time, and the flow of blood was lessening, and then the choking stopped, and the gash was knitting together and disappearing into a long, pink scar against her skin.

Snape was lifting her off the ground and out of his arms. "Professor?" he managed.

"I've healed the wound," Snape replied, "but she must be taken to the Hospital Wing."

Draco nodded. And then he stumbled three paces to his right and finally retched onto the cold stone floor.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note<strong>**:** Please review!


	35. The Hospital Wing

**Chapter 35: The Hospital Wing**

Her mouth was filled with blood. An image flashed unbidden across her mind, so clear it was as if she had been ripped from Snape's grasp and thrust back into the cold dining room of Malfoy Manor. _A man splayed on the floor, his limbs bent at horrible angles. "Vladimir Hammer, Miss Weasley," Tom said, his voice lilting with amusement. "And as you can see, he is not, in fact, dead." The man twitched, and a moan that was barely human issued from between his parted lips. She bit down hard on her own tongue. There was so much blood._

She felt a jolt of panic and jerked her head to one side, trying desperately to spit out the blood, but the movement sent a spasm of white-hot pain up her chest and neck. It was like someone had thrust a dozen knives into her body in an unbroken line from ribs to throat. Her vision blurred with the force of it, and she let out a groan. No sound came out; the blood just bubbled on her lips.

"Poppy!"

"Severus, what in Merlin's name –"

Their voices came to her as if through a heavy cloth. They sounded muffled and far away, which she knew was impossible, because she could feel Snape's arms beneath her shoulder blades and knees and the fabric of his robes against her cheek. Darkness pulsed at the edges of her vision, and she let her eyes fall fully closed.

_A long, dim hallway with a door at its end. The hallway was shifting all around her, the walls spinning and the floor rolling beneath her feet. "…your dad was there, and I _was_ the snake," Harry's voice said, "And I bit him." _

"She was hit…we don't know –" _Draco._ She forced her eyes open again, squinting against the blur of lights above her. His voice was harsh and grainy, like he was speaking through gritted teeth. He sounded like _he_ was in pain, and she wondered if he'd been hit by a curse too. The thought sent another jolt of panic through her.

Suddenly, a face – Madam Pomfrey's – loomed above her, and she realized Snape had laid her down on one of the Hospital Wing beds. Madam Pomfrey said something; her mouth moved, but Ginny had to strain to understand. She could only make out a few words.

"…what happened, Severus…never seen…."

"…Prefect's toilet…first floor…."

The darkness pushed forward again, more insistently this time, and she felt her eyes sliding shut. She could still hear Draco's voice coming from somewhere to her right, and she tried to focus on it, like it was a thread that could pull her back from the edge.

"…in pain! At least do something about –"

"What the _fuck_, Malfoy?" Blaise's voice, followed by a loud sound – something slamming against the wall. A high-pitched protestation from Madam Pomfrey, a deeper exclamation from Snape. She tried to turn to see what was happening, but the pain crashed into her, harder and _fuller_ this time.

_The door swung open. Behind it was an outdoor arena, empty but for the body lying in the grass. She ran to it, but she knew who it was before she recognized his features: Cedric. There was a soft sound and she looked up to see Tom standing above her – Tom as she'd first met him, young and handsome and cold, but for the eyes. His eyes were crimson red. His diary – or was it _her_ diary? – was tucked under his arm. Thick liquid was dripping from beneath its leather cover onto the blades of grass below, and at first she thought it was blood. But then she saw that it was black, and she realized it was ink._

The ink spread across her mind, blotting everything out, and she slipped into nothingness.

* * *

><p>"And the scar, Poppy?" Professor Dumbledore's voice was low and calm, but even Draco could see the anxiety in his expression. His brow was creased, and his lips were set in a grim line.<p>

"It will heal," Madam Pomfrey replied. "There have been great advances recently," she continued distractedly, producing a small bottle from her pocket, "in the effectiveness of Dittany." She uncorked the bottle, and the wing filled with a sickly sweet smell. She tapped the glass with her wand, and then, with careful precision, drew her wand tip along Ginny's wound. The liquid remained at the surface for a moment before absorbing suddenly into the skin.

Draco's gaze flicked up to Ginny's face. She'd passed out half an hour ago, and she was still unconscious now. Madam Pomfrey had put a needle in her arm to administer a blood-replenishing potion, but she was still deathly, deathly pale.

He glanced at Blaise, who was standing stiffly to his right. His expression was uncharacteristically grim, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his robes. He had come storming into the Hospital Wing after them; someone who had seen them rushing through the corridors must have told him. When he'd seen Ginny, he'd been….

Draco rubbed absently at his own neck, where Blaise's fingers had fisted in his lapels to slam him into the wall. Blaise was hardly ever angry, but tonight he'd been livid.

Madam Pomfrey corked the Dittany and finally turned her full attention to them. "But I wouldn't be surprised if she's more sensitive to dark magic from now on – for years, even for the rest of her life. That was a very dark curse, and it nearly killed her. There are traces of it in her system that no amount of healing can remove."

There was a beat of silence as they all took that in. "Who knew you knew such dark magic, Potter?" Snape asked dryly, turning to fix Potter with a hard stare.

Potter didn't volunteer any information. He was shaking his head as though he couldn't quite believe what was happening. His eyes were fixed on Ginny. He looked distraught, and Draco wondered fleetingly if it was possible that the git hadn't known what that spell would do. A few hours ago, he would have said Potter didn't have the stomach to cast a curse like that.

"Weekly detentions," Snape continued firmly, "for the rest of the year. Both of you."

Dumbledore let out a soft sigh, then a sound of agreement. Draco didn't even bat an eye. He might have protested – after all, it was _Potter_ who had nearly killed Ginny – but he knew Snape had heard the first syllables of the Cruciatus Curse leave his lips. And, to be honest, he didn't give a damn about sitting detentions when Ginny was lying in a hospital bed. Why the fuck were they talking about _disciplinary action_ anyway? He made an impatient sound.

"How long will she be unconscious?" he ground out, his voice harsh and clipped. Madam Pomfrey's gaze jerked to him. She was obviously surprised at his tone. "How long will she be here?" he insisted when she didn't answer immediately. That's what really mattered.

"At least a week, likely more," she responded finally. "She's lost a great deal of blood. I'll need to keep her under observation. And she'll need regular doses of blood-replenishing potion and Dittany." She paused, then turned to the headmaster. "You'd better get in touch with the Ministry of Education, Albus. I doubt she'll be in any shape to take O.W.L.s next week."

"I'll Floo now from your grate, Poppy," Dumbledore agreed. "You'll need to be there to explain the injuries, and Severus, you'd better come too, as you're the only one who saw what happened." The three of them moved toward Madam Pomfrey's office.

"Out – all three of you," she said, turning back for a moment.

"No," Draco said flatly. Apparently the woman had learned nothing from Ginny's fall three years ago. It took him a moment to realize that Potter had spoken at the same time and had crossed his arms over his chest. He wasn't leaving either. Draco felt a flash of annoyance at that. Why couldn't he just leave them well enough alone? If he hadn't meddled, none of this would have –

"Leave them, Poppy," Dumbledore said, waving a hand.

"Fine," she said. "Don't disturb anything," she added, shooting them a last glare.

As soon as the office door closed, he whirled on Potter. "If you're going to cast spells you _don't_ know, Potter," he spat, "_at least _know where you're pointing your wand."

Potter's eyes flashed, and he opened his mouth to retort, but Blaise spoke first. "Malfoy," he said, his voice low and edged, and then he turned and walked toward the wing's double doors. Draco's lips set in a thin line. He glanced down at Ginny, then back at Potter. Irrationally, he didn't want to leave her alone with him – not now. _He_ should be with her – him or Blaise. But Blaise had reached the doors, swung one open, and was waiting expectantly.

Draco forced himself to turn and follow him.

Blaise leaned back against the wall outside. Through the doors' glass windows, Draco watched Potter pull a chair to Ginny's bedside and sank down. "Tell me what's going on," Blaise said, drawing Draco's attention back to the situation at hand.

"What?"

Blaise just cocked an eyebrow, and Draco was struck – _again_ – by how few times in his life he'd seen his friend this serious.

He exhaled. "I hexed first –"

"I figured as much," Blaise interrupted, and when Draco shot him a look, he thought he saw the barest hint of the usual Zabini smile ghost over his lips.

"_And_," he continued testily, "I nearly used an Unforgiveable on him…." To Blaise's credit, he didn't even blink at that. "And then he cast some curse I've never even _heard_ of…_Sectumsempra_," he recalled. He glanced up. Blaise shook his head. He didn't know it either.

"I didn't even see her until she was in front of me," Draco said, and he felt his throat tighten. He stopped, trying to swallow it down. He tried to cover the pause by clearing his throat, even though he knew that wouldn't convince Blaise for half a second. "It hit her," he said thinly. He cleared his throat again, and for the hundredth time that evening, the image of Ginny, eyes full of tears and choking on her own blood, flashed across his mind.

He shook himself and looked up. Blaise was regarding him, his expression inscrutable. "I didn't ask what _happened_," he said finally, "I asked what's going on. And I swear to Merlin, if you say it's nothing…." he added, not breaking eye contact. He let the sentence hang.

Draco swallowed. He had spent _months_ hiding what was going on. At the beginning, he had been sure he could finish the cabinet quickly, without help. And he had known that if he told her, Ginny would try to stop him. She had some idealistic, unrealistic, _unreasonable_ belief that the two of them needed to stay on the same side of all this. She had clung to that belief for years. And now that she had defied the Dark Lord and gone to the Order…she would demand that he do the same. She wouldn't understand that they had to hedge, had to play both sides.

And he couldn't discount her loyalty either. She and Potter were friends. He glanced into the wing. Potter had bent forward and let his head fall into his hands. He looked devastated. She and Potter were _good_ friends, he amended grudgingly. Maybe even in some way he couldn't understand.

So he'd determined that he couldn't risk it. And once he had decided that, there had been no reason to tell Blaise any more than he could figure out on his own.

"So?" Draco looked up to see his friend arching an expectant eyebrow.

He glanced around. The corridor was deserted, but he lowered his voice anyway. And started from the beginning. "Do you remember the first time Ares gave you a letter to deliver to me?"

* * *

><p>The clock above the door to Madam Pomfrey's office read twenty past midnight. Githead and Granger had come in an hour ago, and after making a big show of bemoaning Ginny's state, Weasley had shot him the most accusatory look he'd ever received, threatened to hex him, failed to follow through on that threat, and then dragged Potter back to Gryffindor Tower for bed. Now it was just the two of them – him and Blaise – sitting vigil on opposite sides of Ginny's cot.<p>

"You have to tell her," Blaise said suddenly, breaking the silence that had settled in the wing after Potter, Weasley, and Granger's exit. It took Draco a moment to comprehend what he'd said. It was the first thing he'd said in response to everything Draco had told him.

"You do understand why I haven't, don't you?" he said.

Blaise just shot him a sardonic look, and Draco nodded slowly. "Right," he said, a little sheepishly. It was a stupid question. Of course Zabini understood. He _knew_ Ginny. And if Aradia had taught her son anything, it was how important it was to play both sides of any disagreement. No matter the outcome, the Zabinis never lost.

"I have to fix the cabinet," Draco said, musing more to himself than Blaise now. "That way, if the Dark Lord wins, I can save her. And if Potter wins…well, she won't need saving."

"Great plan, Malfoy," Blaise replied, and there was something harsh and sarcastic in his tone that made Draco look up sharply. "How's it working out for you?" He looked pointedly at Ginny's prone body.

Draco cringed inwardly, but he dug his teeth into his lip and just managed to look defiant. "Fine, until tonight," he said, trying not to think about the fact that Ginny had been growing increasingly suspicious for weeks.

Blaise snorted, clearly unconvinced. "If you don't tell her what's going on, she's going to kill herself trying to find out." He paused, considering, then shrugged. "Or have Potter do it for her, as the case may be."

Draco's temper flared. "This isn't a joke, Zabini," he snapped.

Blaise's eyes flicked up to his, and Draco flinched. They were hard as flints. "You're right," he retorted, "and it's not a neat, little plan, either. Not a good one, anyway. And have you considered what will happen if you can't fix that cabinet?"

"Of course I have."

"You don't think she might like a little notice before you and your parents are killed? You don't think she might be able to help you get out of the fucking mess you've gotten yourself into?" Blaise was glaring daggers now, and though his voice was low, his words were sharp and clipped. "She's a smart fucking witch, Malfoy, and a good one to have around, or aren't _you_ the one who told _me_ that four and a half fucking years ago?"

Draco was stunned to silence. He'd never seen Blaise like this. Never. But he was saved from having to fumble for a response. Zabini pushed his chair back and stood. "I'm going to bed," he said coldly, "but you're telling her what's going on as soon as she wakes up." He held Draco's gaze. "If you don't, I will."

* * *

><p>"You missed an Apparition lesson."<p>

Draco didn't open his eyes, but his brow creased with irritation when he heard Potter sink into the chair on the other side of Ginny's bed. "We've had Apparition lessons on the same day at the same time for eleven weeks, Potter," he said dryly. "Is it likely I'd forget? I missed it on purpose." Potter didn't respond to that, and after a moment, Draco let his mind drift once more.

He hadn't left this chair for almost three days, except for a quick wash up last night. Blaise, whose anger had gone as quickly as it had come, had spent a few hours each day in the chair Potter now occupied, and he brought food. But Draco had hardly slept. Every time he closed his eyes, he dreamt of Ginny in the Chamber, or Ginny falling from the sky, or Ginny bleeding on the ground, and he woke with a jerk, heart pounding and palms sweating. He was exhausted, and the last thing he wanted to do right now was talk to _Potter_.

Unfortunately, Scarhead had other ideas. "How is she?"

"Ask Madam Pomfrey."

"I'm asking you."

"Tough draw."

He could just imagine Potter's jaw setting, the vein beside his eye pulsing with frustration. The thought made him smile a bit, which he couldn't remember doing since the duel. Maybe there was a silver lining to Potter being here after all.

They were silent for several long moments, and then, "Whatever you're doing, you're going to break her heart."

Draco's eyes flew open. Potter was regarding him coolly, expression not nearly as frustrated as he had imagined. Anger flared in his chest. "You don't know anything about it, Potter," he snapped.

"Maybe not, but I do know _her_."

He snorted. "You don't know anything about her." He paused, considering. His thoughts ran to Slughorn's Christmas party. They had looked awfully friendly when they'd been kissing, so maybe Potter _had_ known something about her. Though, Draco mused, not nearly as much as _he_ had just a few hours later. He smirked. "Anything that counts, anyway."

That ruffled Potter, just as he'd known it would, and he felt himself relaxing, his self-satisfaction returning by degrees. "I know she's in love with you," Potter said finally.

At that, Draco actually managed a grin. "And doesn't that just tear you apart?"

Scarhead looked ready to hit him, which only made him grin wider. "You don't deserve her," Potter ground out after a moment, green eyes flashing.

Draco's smile fell, and he glanced at Ginny. Potter was probably right about that, he knew. But then again…. "And you think _you_ do?" he replied finally, arching an eyebrow. "Tell me, have you even thought about what will happen to her if you lose this war?"

Potter opened his mouth, then closed it again, lips set in a thin line. "No," Draco continued, "I didn't think so." He shifted in his seat, crossing his right ankle over his left knee. "If you really cared about her, you would _want_ me to be able to protect her if you fail." He held Potter's gaze. He could practically see the gears turning behind the bright green, and he wondered if Scarhead was smart enough to figure out what he was saying. But after a few moments with no response, he leaned back, letting his eyes slide shut once more.

"You're an idiot, Malfoy." Draco let out a theatrical sigh, then straightened again and met Potter's eyes, not bothering to hide his derision.

"I wonder, Potter, how many times have you said that in the past six years? And does it ever get you anywhere?"

He expected Potter to snort, or roll his eyes, or respond to the taunt in _some_ way, but he didn't. "I _do_ care about her," he said instead, "more than you know."

Draco could hear the sincerity in his voice, even though he didn't want to, and somehow he couldn't summon a sardonic response. He managed to school his expression to cool carelessness.

"But if you think you can make deals with Voldemort," Potter continued, "then you're more delusional than I thought."

Draco was at a loss for words. They fell into silence, and for once, Potter didn't look likely to break it. He settled back against his chair back and looked away.

Several minutes passed before Draco finally spoke. "She woke up for a few seconds last night," he said neutrally, "but she was in pain and really groggy, so Madam Pomfrey gave her something to put her to sleep again. Apparently it's a good sign, though," he continued. "The blood replenishing potion's working, and the Dittany."

When he looked up, Potter was watching him, his expression slightly less hard. He nodded. Draco leaned back again and shut his eyes.

* * *

><p><em>A few days later<em>

Ginny woke groggily. Her tongue felt like sandpaper, and when she opened her eyes a sliver, the light nearly blinded her. Her head immediately began to throb. She shut her eyes again.

"…_now is not the time!_" She heard the voice coming from somewhere near her feet. "I mean no disrespect, Albus, but your timing could not be worse." Hearing it a second time, she recognized it – Professor Snape. And from what he'd said, he was talking to Dumbledore.

The headmaster's voice confirmed it a moment later. "Harry and I _must_ retrieve the locket, Severus. We go tonight. It would not do to wait."

Focusing on their words intensified the throbbing at the base of her skull, but Ginny forced herself to concentrate. She kept her eyes shut, but she could construct the scene in her mind. The two professors were talking at the foot of her bed. They didn't know she was awake and listening.

"Draco Malfoy has had free reign for months now. What better time to strike than when you are out of the castle?"

Dumbledore let out a light laugh. "I hardly think he'll be able to achieve his goal if I am absent."

"That is not what I meant, Albus," Snape said, making a frustrated sound. Dumbledore's last statement seemed to have irked him. "You know very well that –"

"A moment, Severus," Dumbledore cut in. He paused, then, "I believe Miss Weasley is awake."

Ginny felt herself flush, and she forced her eyes open again, squinting against the light. The pounding moved to settle behind her eyes, and she winced. "I'm –," she began, an apology for eavesdropping on her lips.

"How do you feel, Miss Weasley?" the headmaster said, smiling broadly.

"All right. My head hurts," she said, wincing again as the words cracked up her throat. "How long have I…?"

"About a week," Professor Snape said shortly. "Some potion for the pain, and some water, I think," he added. He was observing her shrewdly. Obviously, _he_ wanted to question her about what she'd heard, even if Dumbledore seemed unconcerned. But after a moment, he turned and crossed the room to Madam Pomfrey's office. The matron emerged, a bottle, stirring rod, and measuring spoon clutched in one hand and a glass of water in the other.

She set everything down on the little table next to Ginny's bed, then pulled the stopper out of the bottle and began to stir. "How are you feeling, dear?" she asked. "You don't look nearly as bad as the last time you woke up." Ginny frowned; she didn't remember waking up before. "I had to give you a Sleeping Draught straight away."

She paused in her stirring and gestured to Professor Snape. Together, they lifted Ginny to a sitting position and propped the pillows up against the top of the bedframe behind her. Ginny leaned back against them. Looking down, she realized that someone had taken her out of her robes and put her in her plaid pajama bottoms and a loose white shirt. From this angle, she could see the edge of a long, pale pink scar over the top of the collar.

"Drink this," Madam Pomfrey said, drawing her from her thoughts. Ginny downed the spoonful of dark liquid she offered and then a gulp of water. She finished the glass in a few more swigs and leaned back again. Her headache seemed to recede immediately, and she exhaled heavily.

"Good," Madam Pomfrey said, satisfied. "I'd better go write to tell your parents you've woken up. They'll be immensely relieved."

"Weasley!" She turned. Blaise was standing in the doorway, a plate of food in hand and a grin on his face. "Bloody hell," he said, striding toward her, "you took your time, didn't you? I was beginning to forget your eye color."

She couldn't help grinning back.

"Language, Mr. Zabini," Dumbledore said, but he was only half-serious. "Let's leave them in peace, shall we, Severus?" He and Professor Snape swept from the room.

Blaise made a gesture, and she shifted to make room for him on the narrow bed. He sank down, careful not to move the mattress too much, and crossed his ankles atop the sheet. He folded his arms and turned to look at her. "Still brown, then," he said.

She smiled again. "Would seem so. Would you mind?" She held out the empty glass and arched an eyebrow.

His brows went up. "You sure?" He proffered the plate in his hands. "Hold this," he said, then shifted to draw his wand from his back pocket.

"Hardly," she replied. "Last time I saw you do this, the water came out muddy. But I've been out for a week, and when has it ever taken _Blaise Zabini_ more than a week to learn a spell?"

He snorted. "I've been rather occupied, you know," he said. "With –"

"What? Knicking food from the Great Hall?" she teased, glancing down at the full platter. She considered it for a moment, then picked up the fork and speared a piece of potato. As soon as it touched her lips, her stomach began to rumble. Merlin, she hadn't realize how bloody _hungry_ she was.

"_Excuse me_, I'll have you know that I've been sitting vigil at your bedside for _hours_ every day," he said indignantly. He paused for a moment, his brow creasing with concentration. "_Aguamenti_," he murmured, and a stream of clear water shot from the end of his wand into Ginny's glass. He smirked.

Ginny took a sip and grinned. "Impressive, Zabini," she said, replacing the glass on the bedside table.

"I get that a lot," he quipped, and she rolled her eyes.

"And Merlin knows it's been a struggle," he continued, pocketing his wand again. "You are boring as all hell when you're unconscious."

She laughed. "I'll try harder next time, shall I?"

"Much obliged," he replied. He opened his mouth and she forked a piece of chicken onto his tongue. "I'm surprised Malfoy hasn't offed himself by now. He's hardly left. The only reason he's not here this very instant is because I _made_ him go and take a shower."

Ginny sobered. "He's not hurt is he?" she asked. "I didn't think he was, but right before I passed out I thought I heard –"

"He's not," he replied. "He's been miserable for the past week though," he added after a moment. "Absolute nightmare to be around. _I've_ almost offed myself from that alone."

"Good thing I woke up then."

"Exactly."

"Purely selfish motives?"

"What else?"

She found herself grinning again, and she shifted to lean her head against his shoulder. They sat there for a few moments, the comfortable silence broken only by the clink of fork against plate.

There was a sound near the door, and Ginny turned. Draco was standing frozen in the doorway, his hair slicked down by shower water. Their eyes met, and she could read deep relief in the gray.

"_There_ you are," Blaise said, breaking the silence. Draco's gaze flicked away. "I was just telling Weasley how unbearable you've been the past few days."

"Thanks," Draco replied dryly, crossing the wing. He moved around the bed to sink down in the chair facing the doors. And then he exhaled heavily and let his head fall forward onto Ginny's leg. "For fuck's sake, Gin," he murmured, and through the thin cotton sheet, she could feel the warmth of his breath against her thigh. Instinctively, her hand went to his hair, her fingers tangling in the damp threads.

He raised his face, met her eyes again. "I'm so sorry," he said, and the pain in his voice sent a stab of tightness through her chest. She recognized it as the same half-hoarseness she'd heard just before she'd passed out.

"It's all right, you complete and utter arse," she said back.

He let out a thin laugh, and on her other side, Blaise let out a fuller one.

"But if you pull _anything_ like that again, I will personally guarantee that you never walk straight again. And _I_ won't miss."

Blaise snorted. "Potter really needs to work on his aim," he said speculatively. "He'll never defeat the Dark Lord with wand work like that."

It was an off-hand comment, Ginny knew, but it hit too close to home, to the reason all of this had happened. Draco had never answered her questions. She still had no idea what was going on. Beside her, Draco and Blaise had fallen silent too, and when she looked up, she caught them exchanging a look, and she knew them well enough to know that it was significant. She opened her mouth, a question on her lips, but Blaise spoke first.

"Well," he said, swinging his legs off the mattress, "I'm going. This wing smells of disinfectant."

"I would hope so," Draco replied. "It _is_ a _Hospital_ Wing, after all."

Blaise made a face. "I'm glad you're better, Weasley," he said.

"What happened to purely selfish motives?" she teased.

"I didn't say I was happy for _you_," he replied smoothly. "This means _I_ can stop badgering Malfoy to wash and avoiding Wilkie Twycross in the halls. He's been stalking me, you know," he said, turning to Draco, "demanding to know when you'll be making up that lesson you missed."

Draco groaned. "Bloody hell, it's not as if I need his help."

"Apparition is no joke, young man," Blaise said, turning his voice to a high-pitched squeak that Ginny could only assume belonged to Twycross. "The Three D's, remember? Anyway," he continued, returning to his normal register, "you'd better listen. The last thing this trio needs is you trying to Apparate from your manor to mine and getting stuck in the middle."

And with that, he raised his hand in farewell and left the room.

A beat of silence, and then Ginny turned to face him head-on. "Draco," she said, determined to get the truth out of him once and for all, "I think you owe me an explan –" She stopped short. He wasn't looking at her, and his expression was frozen in shock, as if he'd just thought of something – something important. He had gone deathly pale. "Draco, what is it?"

Suddenly, he pushed his chair back and stood. The chair legs made a harsh scraping sound against the floor, and Ginny winced as the sound sent a dull throb through her skull. She shook herself to clear her head, but Draco had already rounded the bed. "Draco," she said sharply.

He stopped and turned to her, but he was still looking past her. She could practically see the cogs turning in his mind. "I have to try something," he said distractedly. "I'll be right back."

"Draco, wait!" she said. "You –" But he was already gone.

* * *

><p>The Room of Requirement was dim, and standing at its center, Draco had the uneasy feeling that the walls were bearing down on him. He knew it was just a trick of the light, something to do with the darkness of the shadows, but he shifted uncomfortably nonetheless.<p>

Beside him on the low table lay several thick books: _Apparition for the Uninformed_, _The Ministry of Magic's Official Directives on Apparition_, _Magical Transportation: From Floo to Portkey_. The topmost book lay open, its title obscured. The chapter title was written in decorative, looping script across the top of the page: _Neither Here Nor There: Disconnected Apparition_.

He gripped the apple tight in his palm as he opened the cabinet door. He set it down, shut it inside. He counted out the seconds in his head. _One…two…three…four…five…._

He opened the door, already knowing what he would find. The apple was gone.

He grabbed one of the scraps of paper lying beside the books. _If the apple is whole, it is ready_, he wrote. He placed the note where the apple had been and shut the door. A moment later, it had disappeared too.

He sank down into the chair behind him, half-numb with the knowledge of his own success. He had done it. All of the doubt he'd felt that fateful night a week ago…everything Blaise had said about giving Ginny notice before he was killed…all of that worry had been pointless. He could tell her now, safe in the knowledge that they could play both sides. His plan could succeed. It would get them through the war – get _her_ through the war.

He had only one thing left to do, one more task to complete. He forced himself to think the words. He had to face them. _He had only to kill Albus Dumbledore._

But that came later. All he had to do now was wait.

He didn't have to wait long. He heard a soft but unmistakable thud, like something small and solid being put down on wood. He should have known that Borgin would be waiting by the cabinet's twin night and day. Draco wondered if he was doing so at wand point.

He swallowed, tried to slow the pounding of his heart, and opened the door.

Inside was an apple – _the_ apple. Whole and unmarred. And beside it a shred of parchment. He reached forward.

On it was written a single word, scrawled in Bellatrix's handwriting.

_Tonight._

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Hi, guys. I know I promised longer and more frequent updates, but unfortunately, just as my school life lightened up, my personal life took a turn for the worse. As it is, I really struggled to get this chapter out in the four weeks it's taken me. I'll do my best, but the remaining ten (or so) chapters will probably take some time. Sorry, please be patient, and in the meantime, thank you for all of your lovely reviews. I have the best readers. Seriously, you guys rock.


	36. The Killing Curse

**Author's Note:** Thanks for your patience on this one. It's an important one, and it throws you in right away. So deep breaths, everyone…

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 36: The Killing Curse<strong>

_Fifteen minutes._

Draco's heart began to pound, and his mind narrowed to a single thought. The edges of the parchment slip crumpled in his palm as he thrust it aside. He was at the door before it fluttered to the ground. He shot one last glance at the Cabinet where it loomed high in the center of the room, its shape oddly distorted by the moonlight and shadow, before he pushed outward on the heavy oak.

"Ron!" The cry came from somewhere to his left, and he had just turned toward the source when he heard another shout. His head whipped right.

"_Expelliarmus!_"

He saw the jet of red light erupt from Githead's wand. It sailed past him, missing by half a foot. His hand flew to the front of his robes, his fingers closing around his wand.

Githead tried again. "_Expelliar_ –"

"_Protego!_" he yelled, and the shield was strong enough to knock the redhead off his feet.

The next Disarming Spell – _Merlin_, didn't they know anything else? – came from the person to his left. He turned and recognized Longbottom as he threw up another shield. "_Stupefy!_" he shouted, tossing a sloppy jet of scarlet light in the other boy's direction. It missed, but Longbottom had to dive to one side to avoid it. And in the few moments when they were both flat on the ground, Draco took off.

He ran, his shoes pounding against the floor as he barreled headlong toward the end of the corridor. What the _fuck_ were they doing here? This had something to do with Potter, he thought furiously, his fingers tightening into a fist around his wand. That complete and utter –

_No_. He didn't have time for anger now. He forced himself to focus. He couldn't defeat both of them when they were throwing spells at him from either side, but facing them both head on…. He rounded the corner, breathing hard, and waited, jaw set.

"Come on, Neville!" He heard Githead's voice – loud and impatient – and then his footsteps running closer.

"Ron, wait!" Longbottom yelled.

Githead stopped short. "For Merlin's sake, he didn't even hit you!"

"Shove off!" Longbottom grumbled. "It was just him…just Malfoy. Harry said he might be helping _Death Eaters_ get into the castle. It's _them_ we're supposed to be looking out for, not Malfoy on his own."

A pause, then, "Fine," Githead agreed. "You're right. Maybe he even _wants_ us to follow him on a wild goose chase around the castle while Death Eaters come out through –"

Draco didn't wait to hear the rest. He turned and ran. He only had fifteen minutes. He didn't even want to think about what would happen if he wasn't back by the time Bellatrix and the others passed through the Cabinet on their side. The Room of Requirement would be un-formed. They wouldn't have a destination, which meant they would be stuck in the same limbo that had put Montague in the hospital for weeks – if they were lucky. If not, they would just be…gone.

He grit his teeth and pushed himself to a sprint. He took the stairs down to the dungeons two at a time, and when he entered the Common Room, he grabbed the first student he saw. "Where's Zabini?" he snapped. The boy's eyes were wide with shock – they flicked down to where Draco's fingers were fisted in his lapels – but he didn't need to be asked twice. He pointed to the far corner.

Blaise was lounging casually against the sofa back, Pansy on one side and Goyle on the other. Crabbe was babbling at them from an armchair, looking smug and twirling a pouch of something between thumb and forefinger. Blaise's eyebrows went up when he saw Draco striding across the room toward them.

"Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder," Crabbe was saying. "Impossible to see through. Normal lighting spells don't work. I got it off a pair of wizards down Knockturn. They were dangerous, the two of them. They were from –"

"Let me guess," Blaise drawled mockingly. "Peru."

"Exactly," Crabbe continued, obviously oblivious to Blaise's sarcasm. "But I drove a hard bargain, and –"

Draco cut him off. "We need to go," he said shortly, fixing Blaise with a look that he hoped brooked no argument. "Right now."

"No need to be so rude, Draco," Pansy said languidly. She smirked. "He's not your dog, you know."

"Shut up, Parkinson," he hissed. The venom in his voice was nearly palpable. Right now, Parkinson's half-simpering, half-calculating tone was enough to make him hex her. He nearly did.

It was enough to silence her, and it got Blaise off of the sofa. "What's wrong?" he asked as they headed toward the exit.

Draco lowered his voice to a harsh murmur. "I need you to go to the Hospital Wing right now and bring Weasley back here," he said. "You have to –" He paused mid-sentence, mind racing, and turned on his heel.

Blaise raised his arms in confusion. "Malfoy, what –"

Draco grabbed the pouch of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder out of Crabbe's hand, flatly ignoring his protests. He thrust the pouch into his pocket. "You have to keep her here," he continued, returning to Blaise's side, "until it's all over." They crossed the barrier into the green glow of the dungeons.

"Malfoy –"

"_Now_, Blaise," he snapped impatiently. He didn't have time to explain it over and over again. "Go to the Hospital Wing, bring Ginny to the Common Room, and keep her there until it's over."

"Dammit, Draco," Blaise said sharply, grabbing his arm to stop him short halfway up the staircase. "Until _what's_ over?"

Draco met his eyes, trying to convey some of the urgency of what he was saying. The _importance_ of it. "There will Death Eaters in the castle in –" He glanced at his watch. _Shit_. "– seven minutes." He started up the stairs again, Blaise at his heels. "You have to get Ginny back to the Common Room. Better yet, bring her to our dormitory. She'll be safe there."

"Bloody hell," Blaise said wonderingly, "you actually –"

Now it was Draco's turn to stop. He gripped Blaise hard by the shoulders. "Make sure she stays in our dormitory," he said, emphasizing every word. "My aunt – that day in the Three Broomsticks – she said the Dark Lord wanted Ginny alive, but she didn't look like she agreed. She said death would have been too kind a punishment. Are you listening, Blaise? My aunt _cannot_ run into her. It's Bellatrix. She might –"

Blaise nodded, then froze, and Draco knew he'd had the exact same thought that Draco had had ten minutes ago. "Sensitivity to dark magic," he said. He met Draco's eyes. "Do you know how bad –"

"No. But Madam Pomfrey said it could last for the rest of her life, and it's only been a week. Being anywhere _near_ a dark curse will probably hurt her. Imagine what will happen if she's hit by one of Bellatrix's."

"Bellatrix _does_ have a reputation for creativity," Blaise said, but there was no humor on his face or in his voice. Not even a twinge. He started up the stairs again, taking them two at a time now. Draco followed.

They raced through the corridors, moving too quickly to speak. "Where are you going?" Blaise asked when Draco broke away.

"I have to get back to the Room," he said shortly. He swallowed, trying to catch his breath, and glanced at his watch again. Four minutes.

"You didn't tell her, did you?" Blaise asked, arching an eyebrow. Before Draco could answer, he let out a heavy sigh and rolled his eyes skyward. His gaze flicked back. "Be careful," he said. His words were clipped and serious, his expression earnest enough to hold Draco still for one extra, precious moment. "I'm not explaining your death to Weasley on top of everything else," he added. He held his glance for one last second, waiting for Draco to nod understanding. And then he was gone.

Draco arrived back at the corner of the leftmost seventh-floor corridor with a minute left. He just hoped to Merlin they hadn't come through early.

"Of all the days to leave –" Githead was complaining.

"It must have been important, Ron," Longbottom replied, "or they wouldn't have left."

The obvious question – _who_ had left? – flitted through his mind, but Draco shook himself. He didn't have time to decipher their conversation, he reminded himself. Instead, he shoved his hand into his pocket, withdrawing a handful of Crabbe's Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder from the pouch inside. He sifted the grains between his fingers. He knew there was probably a fifty percent chance that Crabbe had been completely full of it and that this was just sugar charmed dark. But it was worth a try. He gripped his wand hard in his other hand, just in case.

And then he ran headlong into the corridor. It took Githead and Longbottom a split-second to process his presence, and then he had to dodge a Stunner – apparently they _did_ know something other than the Disarming Spell – from Githead and some jet of purple light he didn't recognize from Longbottom. But a moment later he was upon them, and he threw the Powder hard at the ground between their feet.

They were engulfed in pitch black.

Longbottom let out a panicked shout, and Githead yelled something in response, obviously convinced that his voice must be muffled by the darkness. Draco moved quickly, ducking and dodging, perhaps unnecessarily. They seemed to be too confused to cast any spells. He collided with the wall. He closed his eyes – he couldn't see anything anyway – and focused on what he needed, then walked in quick steps back and forth along the stone.

On his fourth pass, he felt the wood of the door beneath his fingertips. Githead and Longbottom were still yelling to each other behind him as he slipped back into the Room.

The door shut behind him, completely sealing out the chaos of the corridor. He leaned back against it, heart pounding. He shut his eyes once more, trying to slow the hammering in his chest and his breathing.

Finally, he looked up, his gaze focusing immediately on the Cabinet.

* * *

><p>Ginny thrust away the thin hospital sheet draped over her body and scrambled from the bed. Immediately, pain knifed through her skull. Her vision swam. She pitched forward, and the floor came up to meet her.<p>

Blaise's arms under her shoulders stopped her short. "Merlin, Weasley," he said. She could feel him shifting his weight, and she knew he was about to lift her into his arms.

She shook him off with a violent movement. "_Stop_, Zabini," she snapped. There was a sob burning its way up her windpipe. _The pain_, she thought determinedly, even though she knew it wasn't. _A task_, Blaise had said. _To let his aunt and…others into the school. That's what he's been doing all this time…why he's been acting like such an arse…._ Ginny fought to breathe normally past the fire in her throat. _The pain_, she insisted again. It was just the pain. Even though it felt a lot more like betrayal.

But either way, she was _not_ going to cry. She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms, and swallowed it down.

She had to force her eyes to focus against the insistent throbbing at the base of her head, but when she looked up, they were dry. "I'm not going back to the Common Room," she ground out between her teeth.

"Yes," Blaise said in the same tone, "you are."

"I'm going to warn Harry," she continued over him, straightening with some difficulty and fixing him with a steely glare that she hoped would cow him into submission.

He was unmoved. Instead, he let out a short, incredulous laugh. "Like hell you are," he replied. "You can barely stand, let alone run around the castle chasing danger-seeking morons."

Something inside her snapped. "Do you have any idea what's about to happen?" she demanded, her voice rising and thinning out. The sob began to work its way back, and she felt her eyes filling. "He's not just letting them in for a fucking tour. They're here to _do_ something, and it's a good bet that killing Harry Potter is on the agenda." She swiped violently at her face with the back of her hand. She knew without a doubt that sounding hysterical was _less_ likely to convince him. In fact, it increased the chances that he would just stun her and carry her back to the dungeons flung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. But she found that she couldn't control the words streaming from her lips, nor the manic bark of laughter that accompanied them. "How long do you think it'll take them to kill him if no one warns him? And how long do you think hiding in your dormitory is going to keep me safe once that happens? How long do you think _I'll_ live once Harry's dead?"

"How long do you think you'll live if you get hit by a curse?" Blaise retorted. She could tell by the thin set of his lips that he was disconcerted by her tone, but he didn't budge. "Sensitivity to dark magic, remember?" He gestured to the scar visible at the top of her t-shirt. "Anyway," he continued, "I don't give a shit about Saint Potter, and neither do the Death Eaters. They're here for Dumbledore, and I think he can bloody well take care of himself, don't you? Or do you actually think –"

"Enough!" she broke in loudly, silencing him. She paused and exhaled heavily, just managing to regain her composure. And then she grabbed her wand from the bedside table and pointed it squarely at his chest. "I'm going to warn them – Dumbledore, Harry, _someone_," she said, her voice passably low and steady once more. "You can stay here willingly or you can stay here under a Body-Bind. Your choice. And _don't_ even try it," she added, her eyes flicking to where his right hand was wavering by his robes pocket. "You know I can call your bluffs with my eyes closed. You said yourself that being on the receiving end of a curse might kill me. You're not likely to try one."

"Don't be so sure, Weasley," he replied, his voice laced with frustration. But his hand stilled, and in spite of everything, she could just read the barest thread of amused admiration in his expression. There was never anyone more impressed by her nerve than Blaise – not even Draco.

If Blaise had known about what she'd done just before Christmas – about how she'd taken her task to Harry and then to the Order – he probably would have disapproved of her choosing sides. But his disapproval would have come with a grudging laugh and a pat on the back.

Draco hadn't found any of it the least bit amusing. But he had known it was the right thing to do – the _only_ thing to do.

Hadn't he?

He had always known her better than she knew herself. And so he had known, years ago, that she would never be afforded the luxury of neutrality. And he had also known that when she ran out of options, as she must, she would pick Harry's side. _"The Dark Lord _killed_ Diggory, Ginny!"_ he'd said, that summer night two years ago. _"You've always been uncomfortable with the blood status line…you're not nearly Slytherin enough for that."_ She'd nearly hexed him for that last, but he had been right, in the end. She would never be able to forget what Tom had done to Cedric, to _her_, what he _would_ do to Harry and her family.

And then there had been her task. The image of him standing at the edge of the Forbidden Forest flashed across her mind. She could almost hear the harshness of his laughter and the cruelty of his tone. He had been furious at the thought of her trying to seduce information out of Harry. He had wanted her to refuse, been barely civil when he'd thought she wouldn't.

And so she had thought that they had finally, finally come to the same unspoken conclusion. She had to choose, and she had to choose Harry, not just for herself, but for _them_.

But then she remembered the way his fingers had closed around her wrist like a vice as she murmured the spell to set the Dark Lord's summons alight, and she felt the ice-cold shiver of sudden uncertainty.

Maybe she had misread everything. Maybe he had never wanted her to choose Harry's side at all. Maybe all of the dramatics at the forest's edge had been petty jealousy, and he had _wanted_ her to go through with the task, knowing full well that following the orders of a man who had tortured her and killed her friend would destroy her.

Or maybe he _had_ wanted her to choose Harry's side, but had never meant to be there when she did. Maybe his parents and blood purity and _Tom_ meant more to him than she had ever imagined, and he had willingly placed them on opposite ends of the battlefield, knowing full well that the battle would destroy them.

She didn't know which was worse.

* * *

><p>Long minutes – or maybe it was just seconds – passed before he heard a thumping sound from behind the door. A pause, a single heartbeat, and it pushed open from the inside. He straightened, his whole body taut.<p>

Bellatrix emerged, wand held aloft, and Draco felt something shift uncomfortably in his chest. Some small part of him, a part that he hadn't even acknowledged in the rush of the past half hour, had hoped the Death Eaters would fail to arrive. He'd completed the first part of his task. If the others didn't show up, he couldn't be blamed. Maybe that would be enough to place him in the Dark Lord's good graces. Maybe –

His aunt had seen him, and she smiled, showing teeth. "I will admit, Draco darling," she said, her voice dripping with its usual mocking sweetness, "that half of us did not expect you to make it this far."

Draco cleared his throat, determined not to let uncertainty or anxiety filter into his voice. "Making it this far was eminently practical," he said. His words came out stiff and edged, but steady enough. "And you know how attached I am to practicality."

Her smile widened at that. "Indeed."

"To be honest…." another voice began, deeper but equally condescending. Antonin Dolohov stepped into view. Draco's jaw set. It had been Dolohov who had threatened him and Ginny in the woods after the Quidditch World Cup, the summer before his fourth year…Dolohov who would have tortured them too. If Ginny hadn't sent him flying back into a tree. The man hadn't told anyone. Draco would bet everything he owned on it. What Death Eater in his right mind would admit to being bested by a thirteen-year-old blood traitor? The thought of that was almost enough to make Draco smirk, despite everything. _Almost_. "We were more concerned about your _ability_ than your practicality."

"You're here, aren't you?" he ground out.

"And how many months did that take?" Dolohov replied. "At this rate, Dumbledore might very well die of natural causes before you get to him."

Other figures were emerging from the Cabinet behind him. Draco recognized the Carrow twins' aunt and uncle, Yaxley, and – he shivered despite himself – Fenrir Greyback. Three others that he didn't know followed.

"Why don't you just get out of the way," Dolohov continued. "Let the adults take it from here."

Greyback let out a short bark of laughter, and Draco saw that his teeth were bared in something between a smile and a sneer.

But Bellatrix's smile had vanished. "You would do well to remember why we are here, Dolohov," she said sharply. "It is for Draco to succeed or fail. He is in charge."

She turned to Draco, eyebrows raised, and he nodded. He forced himself to focus on the next – and final – part of his task. "Go back," he said, turning suddenly. He fixed his gaze on Dolohov, taking a small shred of pleasure in giving the man an order. "Bring the Hand of Glory from Borgin's shop. We're going to need it."

"Watch your tone, _boy_," Dolohov replied, sneering. "I _do not_ take orders from you."

"Ah, that's right," Draco said derisively. "I recall you mentioning something similar…three years ago, was it? I hope your back has healed since then."

"Why, you little –" Dolohov stepped forward, and Draco raised his wand, a curse on his lips.

"Do it," Bellatrix snapped, her eyes fixed on Dolohov and her own wand twitching at her side. "He is in charge. You will regret making me repeat myself again." Dolohov scowled darkly, but after a moment, he stepped back and re-entered the Cabinet.

Bellatrix turned to Draco and smiled broadly once more. "And when he returns, Draco?" she asked, batting her eyes mockingly, "What next?"

* * *

><p>"They've gone," Luna said in her usual serene, distant tone. She looked oddly distorted in the glow of the dungeon lamps, her yellow hair lank and sickly bathed in green and her eyes abnormally large in her face under the flickering light.<p>

Ginny shook herself, gritting her teeth. She felt like there was a knife lodged at the base of her head. Every few seconds, a spasm of pain reverberated through her skull, blurring her vision and scattering her thoughts. And she felt the beginnings of a burning sensation beneath her scar, and an increasingly insistent throbbing. She knew that if she looked, the skin would be bright red with irritation. She wasn't supposed to be out of bed.

"We gathered as much when we went to Dumbledore's office and Gryffindor Tower," Blaise replied, his voice lilting with sarcasm, "and they _weren't there_." He glanced in Ginny's direction and rolled his eyes.

He had insisted on coming with her. When she'd protested, he'd arched an eyebrow at her and told her flatly to fuck off. She knew he wasn't happy about it, just as she knew he'd give her hell when this was all over. For now, Ginny met his eyes and focused hard on keeping the pain from showing on her face. If she started falling apart now, he would re-double his efforts to get her back to the Common Room, where she would be completely and utterly useless.

She forced her thoughts back to the task at hand. Their frantic knocks at the Headmaster's Office had gone unanswered, and a superior Third Year at the Gryffindor Common Room had told them that Harry, Ron, and Hermione had left ages ago. Neville hadn't been there either, and there had been no one else Ginny could trust to give a message to Harry if he returned. And then she had remembered something Snape had said – had it really been just a few hours ago? _Now is not the time! I mean no disrespect, Albus, but your timing could not be worse. Draco Malfoy has had free reign for months now…._

Snape had known something then, had tried to do exactly what she was doing now – warn Dumbledore. So they had barreled down to the dungeons, only to run nearly headlong into Hermione and Luna.

"Why don't you dispense with the sarcasm and tell us what you're doing here?" Hermione was saying to Blaise. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and her cheeks were flushed with obvious dislike.

Blaise smirked and opened his mouth to reply, but Ginny spoke over him. "There's going to be an attack on the castle. _Tonight_," she said. "They're after Dumbledore."

"Dumbledore…?" Hermione replied.

"When we couldn't find him or Harry, we thought maybe Snape –"

She broke off. Hermione wasn't listening. "Why would he send them after Dumbledore?" she was murmuring, her brow furrowed and her gaze fixed on the ground. "If _he_ can't defeat him, how can he expect a Death Eater to succeed?"

"_Hermione_," Ginny said sharply, not bothering to hide her impatience. She gripped the older girl hard by the shoulders. The sudden movement sent a spasm of pain to her temples. She grimaced, but managed to grind out another sentence. "We don't have time for this."

Hermione shook herself, nodded. "Dumbledore's not here," she said firmly, "but once the Death Eaters realize that, they're hardly going to pack up and leave. They'll cause whatever damage they can. We have to tell the others."

"Others?"

"Harry and Dumbledore thought something might happen tonight, so there are Order members patrolling the halls. I'm surprised you didn't run into any of them on your way here."

Blaise snorted. "Doesn't say much for their patrols, does it?"

Hermione scowled at him, then turned to Ginny with a look that suggested she wasn't going to dignify that comment with a response. "Do you know how and when they'll get into the castle? Harry thought they might come through the Room of Requirement, though I don't see how –"

"Looks like Scarhead was right," Blaise answered. "For once." Hermione turned back to him, scowling again, and he arched an eyebrow challengingly. "As for when they'll get in," he added, "they're probably here already."

Abruptly, Hermione's expression changed. The blood drained from her cheeks, and her eyes widened with a sudden thought. Ginny's heart began to thump harder in her chest. "What?" she whispered, afraid of the answer.

"Ron and Neville are guarding the Room of Requirement," Hermione replied, meeting her eyes.

They stood there for a long moment, frozen in horror, and then, in the same instant, they both turned and ran for the stairs.

Ginny's body protested immediately, but she forced herself to focus past the pain pounding through her skull and down her sternum. One foot in front of the other, one step at a time, up out of the dungeons, along the corridor to the next staircase, up to the second floor landing, then the third…. She ignored Blaise, who was hissing objections at her elbow.

And then, suddenly, two things happened at once.

The corridor was flooded with bright green light. And Ginny's chest was rent with a flash of pain so sharp, so all-consuming that she felt she'd been run through with a blade. Her mind blanked. She saw white. She let out an involuntary cry and stumbled forward, catching herself hard against the corner of a stone column. She registered dimly that the skin of both hands had scraped open; she could feel the wet warmth of blood on her palms.

When she regained her sight, all she could make out was a blur of figures – Hermione and Luna had rushed to the window, and Blaise was at her side, saying something she couldn't quite catch – and white spots. Her eyes turned immediately to the source of the light, and she grit her teeth to focus. The green radiated in through the windows, and high above, at the top of the Astronomy Tower, she could just make out the lower half of a symbol that sent a jolt of panic all the way down to her fingertips. The glittering green leer of skull and a thick serpent slithering from its black maw. The Dark Mark.

She remembered something her dad had told her, years and years ago, in the hushed tones of a man still afraid despite himself. _You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters sent the Dark Mark into the sky after they'd killed, wherever they'd killed._

After they'd killed, wherever they'd killed. The Death Eaters were in the castle, and they'd killed someone near the Astronomy Tower. Ron or Neville or – another jolt of panic – Draco. Her mind felt slow, lethargic, and her thoughts were slurring confusedly through the muck. But she managed to hold on to one of them, just barely keeping it from slipping away. Maybe Draco hadn't betrayed her. Maybe he'd warned Dumbledore and Harry and let the Death Eaters into the castle only after the two of them were safely out of reach.

And maybe the Death Eaters had killed him for it.

Sound rushed in again, and she heard Blaise's voice beside her ear. "– back to the Common Room, Weasley," he was saying.

"We have to get to the Tower," she retorted, silencing him with a glare, and she had just shifted to shove him away, when she was rocked by another spasm of pain. This time, she had the distinct feeling of something tearing, something ripping apart along the scar on her chest. Her fingers scrabbled against the stone of the wall as she struggled to stay upright.

"What's happening to her?" Hermione said, eyes wide with terror.

"I have to get her back to the dungeons," Blaise replied, his voice for once devoid of sarcasm. "The curse that hit her – it's made her sensitive to dark magic." He glanced meaningfully out at the Dark Mark. "_Morsmordre_…."

"And there are probably people dueling," Luna added, "on the upper floors. The Order patrols will have gone to the Tower."

"I'm _fine_," Ginny said sharply. She straightened with difficulty and managed to cross to the base of the next staircase.

"You're not fine, Weasley!" Blaise snapped. "For fuck's sake, if we go running headlong into the duels up there, you're only going to get worse."

She mustered all of her remaining energy to focus her sluggish mind. "And yet, I'll still be better off than whoever it is they've just _killed_," she managed. "Which could be my brother, one of my best friends, or -" She broke off. She met his eyes, held his gaze. "I'm going, Blaise," she said firmly. "Please don't make me threaten to hex you again."

She turned away, started upward. He didn't try to stop her, and she exhaled with relief, letting her eyes slide shut for a brief moment. She knew if he'd tried, she wouldn't have had the strength to stop him.

* * *

><p>She threw herself down against the wall at the base of the Tower stairs. Beside her, the steps curved upward. Her upturned face was bathed in the green light glowing down on the open tower top and filtering all the way to the floor below. Her breath was coming in short, desperate gasps, and her head was swimming. Every dark spell cast had nearly floored her, and the effects had only become more pronounced as they moved closer to the duels. She tasted blood in her mouth, and she didn't know where it had come from. Maybe she had bitten down too hard on her tongue in her effort to keep from crying out. Maybe it was something worse.<p>

Her scar was burning fiercely beneath her t-shirt, and she thought she felt a warm dampness beginning to coat the fabric. She didn't dare look.

Blaise collapsed beside her. "We lost Granger and Loony in the corridor back there," he said, breathless himself. "Greyback came out of no where and cut them off. I thought I saw one of your brothers, too…has to have been, with that hair."

He squinted down at her, jerked away at her expression. She knew her face must be contorted with pain. She didn't have the strength to mask it, but it hardly mattered now. They couldn't turn back; to get to the Common Room, they would have to go all the way back through the corridors of dueling Order members and Death Eaters.

Her thoughts were half-developed, scattered. She felt dizzy, and the all-too-familiar blackness that meant she might pass out was beginning to pulse at the edges of her vision.

She had caught a fleeting glimpse of Neville two floors down, and Ron in the corridor behind, but there had been no sign of Draco. Her panic had risen so that now it was in her throat, nearly choking her.

_Maybe he hadn't betrayed her. Maybe they'd killed him for it._

Her mind was muddy, but she had the horrible, sick feeling that she was grasping at straws.

Dumbledore and Harry would never have agreed to leave. If Draco had warned them in advance, they never would have left the students to fend for themselves. Dumbledore was no coward, and Harry…she _knew_ he would never leave his friends to fight in his stead.

And anyway, how could she _hope_ that he hadn't betrayed her if it meant he might be dead? Surely it was better for him to be safe, even if it meant he had never been what she'd thought.

"– are you waiting for, boy?"

Suddenly, she became aware of voices above them. She didn't know how she'd missed them before, magnified as they were by the open, stone space of the stairwell.

"I told you one of us should've been put in charge," the same voice said. Ginny thought she recognized it from somewhere – it sent a thrill of fear through her – but she couldn't quite place it.

"_Quiet_," someone else hissed. A woman, this time. The light changed, and Ginny looked up to see the speaker step into view on the landing above. She was swathed in black, but she had removed her mask, which now dangled from her arm, its eye holes eerily empty. Ginny only recognized the face from the Prophet. Draco had talked about his aunt before, but she realized then that she had never seen Bellatrix Lestrange in person.

"Draco," Bellatrix continued. Her tone was suddenly silkier, but it still had a dangerous edge.

"Severus," another voice said softly. Ginny shifted against the wall until she could make out Professor Dumbledore where he was standing at the edge of the tower, his back to the empty night air. His hands were held out beside him in what might have been a placating gesture, his palms up. He held no wand.

A movement, and Ginny could just make out the edge of another black cloak. But it was different than Bellatrix's, and she knew it was Professor Snape.

Bellatrix laughed. "Begging for mercy won't help you now," she crowed. "Your day is done, and you will be a corpse soon enough. Draco," she repeated, making a gesture.

Draco stepped into view.

Ginny's heart began to pound in her ears. He was alive, at least, she realized, feeling relief flood her body. And he looked unharmed. He stood straight as a rod, and his chin was tilted up. The green light highlighted his expression; his lips were set in grim determination.

But why? Determination to do what?

And then Draco raised his wand and pointed it squarely at Dumbledore's chest, and Ginny finally understood.

"Draco, NO –" she began, but Blaise threw a hand over her mouth, muffling her words, and before she could shake him off, it was too late.

"_Avada Kedavra!"_ Draco said, and Ginny just had time to register the jet of green light erupting from his wand and hurtling toward the headmaster before the pain of the curse exploded in her chest. Her scar was searing, burning, ripping open. She felt like she was being torn apart, and the rush of warm liquid that suddenly soaked her t-shirt told her that that wasn't far from the truth. She let out a hoarse cry.

The darkness closed in, pulsed back, closed in again. She could hear Blaise saying something, his voice rising and falling with sudden panic. She heard her name, and his hands were on her shoulders, shaking her. She struggled to stay conscious, but everything was blurring. She couldn't focus. She coughed, tasted blood bubbling out between her lips.

"_Ginny!_" Blaise's face loomed in front of her. "Ginny," he repeated, and she half-heard the words, half-read them as they left his lips. "Ginny, don't you fucking dare…."

* * *

><p>Bellatrix made a gesture, and Dolohov stepped forward to kneel beside Dumbledore's prone body. The headmaster was lying at the edge of the tower, completely still, his left arm hanging out into the open air. Draco noticed for the first time that his right hand was horribly disfigured, black and shriveled. He trained his gaze on that hand, his eyes scanning the ridges and valleys of the puckered of the flesh so that he wouldn't have to look at the professor's face.<p>

The face of the man he had killed.

"Not dead." Dolohov's voice was heavy with contempt.

Draco's head jerked upward.

"What?" Bellatrix demanded.

"I said, old man's not dead."

Bellatrix hesitated, as if unsure what to do, for a few seconds. And then she turned on him, fixing him with a harsh stare. He forced himself not to flinch. "You have to mean it," she ground out. "You have to _want_ him dead."

"He's incapable, Bellatrix," Alecto Carrow said from behind them, not bothering to hide her glee.

"We always knew Malfoys were cowards," her brother Amycus added. There was a titter of laughter.

Draco ignored them. He swallowed down the bile in his throat and stilled the tremor in his hand by gripping his wand with brutal tightness. He turned his gaze. The skin of the headmaster's face was so thin it was nearly transparent, and there were deep-set lines across his forehead and at the corners of his lips. With the lids shut over his bright, dancing eyes, the great Albus Dumbledore looked like nothing more than a tired old man.

Draco's arm felt suddenly like lead. He couldn't lift it, and he knew in that moment that if he tried to speak those six syllables again, he would choke on them. He tried to steel himself, exhaling and allowing himself to shut his eyes for the briefest of moments. One gesture and six syllables. He had done it once. He could do it again. And mean it. He opened his eyes.

"We do not have time for this." Professor Snape stepped in front of him and raised his own wand.

Bellatrix lurched forward. "How dare you presume to –"

"_Avada Kedavra_," Snape said fiercely, and for the second time in as many minutes, the headmaster was consumed by green light. This time, the force of the curse pushed the body back beneath the rails, and Dumbledore's limp form hurtled over the edge of the Tower and disappeared into the darkness. For an instant, no one spoke. And then Alecto let out a triumphant squeal.

"Come," Snape said darkly, stowing his wand in the folds of his cloak. "It is done." Ignoring Bellatrix's shrieks of rage, he gripped Draco by the shoulder and steered him toward the staircase. Draco did not resist as he was half-pushed down the steps. He heard the others following, the Carrows and Dolohov shouting laughing obscenities and cackling wildly at the dead man's expense.

"There will be Order members," Snape said as they reached the bottom of the staircase. "Prepare yourself." Draco shook himself, grip tightening on his wand once more, stepped out into the open corridor….

And nearly tripped over Blaise.

For a moment, he was too stunned to speak. Blaise was supposed to be safely in the dungeons. He was supposed to be with Ginny. But instead, he was kneeling on the ground, and his hands – his hands were a strange red color and visibly shaking. Their eyes met. Draco saw panic and fear, and then he looked past him, and his eyes focused on Ginny.

He stopped breathing. She was collapsed against the wall, white as a sheet, and the whole front of her shirt was crimson with blood. Her eyes were open, but they were unfocused. He saw blood at the corners of her lips. "Ginny," he managed. He lurched toward her.

Just then, there was a loud sound from his right, and Draco turned instinctively to see a jet of red light hurtling at him from the end of the hall. He threw himself to the floor beside Blaise, heard the hex career off a column a few feet away. He couldn't make out who had cast it; the figure dove back around the corner as Snape sent a curse back down the corridor in response.

_Snape._ Horror flooded his body as he realized that Snape could not have failed to notice Blaise and Ginny, and that Bellatrix was close behind. At most, they had had a few seconds before she reached the bottom of the staircase….

He turned. "Blaise," he said, "we have to get her out of here! Bellatrix – she's right behind me on the –"

He was cut off by a sudden tightness at his throat. It took him a beat to realize that Snape had grabbed him by the back of his collar and was dragging him upright and forward and away down the corridor. He struggled to free himself, but Snape's grip was strong and unyielding.

Another Order member came around the same corner and sent a curse in their direction. This one had better aim, and Snape had to throw up a shield. As he did so, his fingers loosened, and Draco ducked down, scrambling back along the floor to the base of the staircase. Behind him, he heard Snape send a Stunner down the corridor.

"We leave _now_," the professor said, turning and hauling Draco up once more, by his arm this time. Draco tried for a hex, but Snape was too close. He couldn't manage the necessary wand movement in the small space between them, and then Snape had reached around to pin his other arm to his side as he pulled him bodily away.

Behind them, he heard Bellatrix let out a loud laugh. His heart sank, and he twisted, trying to see. "Well, isn't this a lovely surprise?" His aunt's voice was high and exultant, but Draco could hear a thread of wildness in it. She was furious that Snape had overridden her in the Tower, and now she was dangerously out of control. "Step aside, boy. A traitor presenting herself on a silver platter is a rare treat, and Merlin knows I deserve to get some enjoyment out of this whole affair."

He heard the deeper tones of Blaise's answer, but the exact words were muffled by a hex hitting the stone directly to his right. From behind, the Carrows and Dolohov, who had just exited the stairwell, sent three simultaneous Unforgivables in response. All three collided with the far wall, scorching black burn marks onto the stone.

Draco and Snape were halfway down the hallway now, but he strained against the professor's iron grip, managed to catch glimpses around his arm. Blaise was standing defiantly, wand in hand. And Bellatrix was laughing again, this time louder, harsher than before. "It seems we have done the impossible," Bellatrix was saying. "Found something that a Zabini cares about more than himself. Your mother will be so disappointed."

She paused, as if considering. "No matter. The slut can make another son easily enough."

And then, with a careless shrug completely at odds with the thrill in her eyes and the savage smile on her lips, she raised her wand and pointed it directly at Blaise's chest. _"AVADA KEDAVRA!"_

Draco watched, barely comprehending, as Blaise was engulfed in a green light more terrible than the one shining down from the Dark Mark above. His body jerked violently with the force of the curse, his arms flying forward, then back, suddenly limp as a ragdoll's. And then he fell, crumpling lifelessly against the wall, half on top of Ginny.

Somewhere along the line, she had regained some measure of consciousness, and her eyes were focused now. For an instant, their eyes met, and Draco knew he would never forget the look in the deep brown.

And then Bellatrix shifted, turning her wand on Ginny.

"_ENOUGH, BELLATRIX!"_ Snape bellowed. Bellatrix froze. "The Dark Lord wants her alive. Or was his _direct_ order not direct enough for you?" The threat in Snape's voice was clear.

For a long moment, the two of them – Snape and Bellatrix – stood facing each other across the length of the corridor. Around them, chaos reigned. The Carrows and Dolohov were firing curses toward the Order members waiting around the corner. Furious snarls that could only belong to Greyback echoed from several halls away.

Finally, Bellatrix let out a cry of barely contained frustration. She fixed Ginny with a vicious glare. "Soon enough," she hissed, and then she bounded down the corridor toward them, sending ferocious spells at the Phoenixes beyond.

Draco was pulled into motion once more.

His last thought as they rounded the corner into another chaotic corridor and his two friends were obscured from view was that this – all of this – was impossible. Blaise couldn't be dead.

Because no matter the outcome, the Zabinis never lost.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> This was a tough one, guys. I've been pretty darn sick (ugh), this chapter is the longest one thus far, and as you can imagine, I've been dreading that last scene. But I finally got it out, and I hope you enjoyed reading it.

I definitely owe some thank-you's here. First, to all of you for putting up with the long wait. And second, to Mr Norrell for many interesting and helpful discussions that vastly improved the plot of this chapter and that I'm sure will have the same effect on future ones. I am immensely grateful.

Please review!


	37. Children

**Author's Note:** Wow, it's been a long time, hasn't it? Please forgive the delay, and thank you all for your gentle prodding and continued reading. I can't even begin to express how much it means to me.

It might be worth skimming the last chapter for a refresher. This one picks up almost right where that one left off.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 37: Children<strong>

The thick ropes of pressure that were looped around his torso loosened suddenly, and he pitched face first into the dark. His right arm came up on instinct, and his elbow jarred hard against solid ground, his hand scraping painfully across gravel. He tried to look down at the damage – his palm was stinging fiercely, and he could feel the wet warmth of blood – and realized he couldn't see. He felt a surge of panic. The world was swimming around him, blurry and unfocused.

It took him a full second to realize that his eyes were full of tears.

_Blaise's eyes at the base of the staircase, full of panic and fear._

_Oh Merlin, Blaise was –_

His stomach turned, and he heaved violently, his face pressing into the gravel so that the smell of dirt filled his nostrils. He coughed and spat, gasping for breath.

"Would you look at the poor, little _boy_, Amycus?" Alecto's voice, mockingly sweet, cut through the nausea.

"Can't even handle a simple Side-Along," her brother replied, tutting gleefully.

He could hear other voices reeling around him, but he couldn't make out the words.

Fingers gripped him by the collar, dragging him up once more, and he was pulled a dozen stumbling steps, then half pushed across a threshold. He collapsed against a wall in a lit room. The unexpected, shocking coldness of the stone against his cheek, coupled with the brightness of the room, sent a jolt through his system. The voices came suddenly into focus. He swiped at his eyes with the back of his sleeve and recognized the room.

It was the foyer of Malfoy Manor.

As if to confirm, he heard the quick click of heels on the tile floor, followed by his mother's voice. "Draco! Bellatrix! What happened? Did it go…did it go as planned?"

Her cheeks were pale, and her eyes were wide with worry. She must have been waiting for them.

She crossed the room, and her hands came up to cup his cheeks, turning his face from side to side, checking for wounds. "Draco, are you hurt?" she murmured.

_Ginny collapsed against the wall, blood soaking her shirtfront and speckling her deathly white skin._

_Blaise…Blaise was –_

Another wave of nausea broke over him, this time accompanied by a sharp sting in his chest that rushed up to the top of his throat, nearly choking him. He pushed her hands violently away. She drew back, stunned.

"A bit old for Apparition Sickness, isn't he, Narcissa?" Greyback said, his rough growl laced with amusement.

The others laughed. Their spirits were high, that was obvious. Albus Dumbledore was dead. Somehow, that fact seemed small to Draco now. How could it possibly seem _small_? The great, the _invincible_ Albus Dumbledore….

One of the Death Eaters Draco didn't know swaggered forward. He stopped and rocked back on his heels, crossing his arms over his chest. "You've raised him weak, woman," he said. He jutted out his chin in a smug grin.

At that, Draco felt a sudden, unexpected rush of anger. It pushed down the nausea and some of the pain. He clung to it. The man was big, with hulking shoulders and a neck like a tree trunk leading up to a flat face and a head of close-cut blonde hair. But the way he was chortling at his own comment reminded Draco forcibly of Goyle.

If his father had been here, Draco thought savagely, this half-wit excuse for a wizard would never have dared insult Narcissa Malfoy. He clenched his fists at his sides, gritting his teeth against the sting that raced across his cut palms.

"Her name," he snarled, "is Narcissa. And you will never speak to her like that again."

The room fell silent. The man's eyes turned to him. On any other day, Draco might have been satisfied by the way the dull surprise in them gave way to a flicker of nervous uncertainty, but now all he felt was a harsh, all-consuming urge to send a curse hurtling into that massive chest, to watch the body fly back against the wall, limbs flinging forward, then back, just like Blaise's –

_Merlin, Blaise…._

He gripped his wand and exhaled. The anger come roaring back, pushing down the sting again.

By now, the man had regained a degree of composure, and he shifted, tightening his arms in an attempt to make the muscles bulge. "And who's going to stop me, _boy_?" he retorted. "You couldn't even kill an old man."

An answer was on his lips, but Draco found that this time, he couldn't be bothered. Instead, he raised his wand, a hex on his lips.

Snape cut in. "I _think_, Rowle," the professor said, his voice low and measured, "that the Dark Lord will feel there was too _much_ killing tonight, rather than too little."

The room went very still. Snape had brought up the one topic capable of dulling this moment of triumph.

But the professor wasn't looking at Bellatrix. Draco's brow furrowed, but Rowle – Draco had never heard the name before – answered his unspoken question.

"Gibbon should have watched where he was going," he snapped.

Draco glanced around and realized that there were too few figures. One was missing. Someone named Gibbon, apparently.

"In the alternative, the Dark Lord may find that _you_ should have watched whom you were cursing," Snape said dryly, arching an eyebrow.

Rowle flushed. "I was doing what was ordered," he said. His voice was still harsh and defensive, but Draco could read uncertainty and fear in the way he shifted from foot to foot. "It's not my fault Gibbon ran in front of my wand."

"And that excuse just _might_ work for you," Snape replied without a pause. Finally, his gaze flicked coolly to Bellatrix. "I have no such hope in _your_ case."

At that, Bellatrix reddened with fury. By now, the room was deathly quiet. "Do not test me, Severus," she growled into the silence. Her voice was low, but it seemed to echo all the way up to the vaulted ceiling.

"I wouldn't presume," the professor replied wryly.

"Why?" Narcissa asked, anxiety obvious in her expression. She turned to her sister. "What's happened?"

Draco spoke from beside her. "She killed Blaise," he said. The words caught in his throat so that he had to grind them out from between gritted teeth.

His mother gasped. "But…_why_?" she said, her voice a soft whisper now. "He was a Pureblood."

"He was a _traitor_," Bellatrix spat.

"But his mother – Aradia has always been –"

"Traitors can spring up anywhere," Bellatrix snapped, fixing her sister with a venomous glare. "Do not pretend to have forgotten," she added, and the image flashed suddenly across Draco's mind of an album full of photographs, and not a single one of the middle Black sister.

"Anyway," Bellatrix continued, waving a hand dismissively, "_his mother_ is hardly worth mentioning. A cowardly slut…just like that Weasley girl he was trying to save." She let out a few notes of a throaty laugh, but they fell strangely flat, and Draco realized suddenly that Bellatrix Lestrange was uncertain – _nervous_, even – and trying to conceal it.

That realization sent an unexpected rush of cold satisfaction through his system. His fingers tightened around his wand.

"That _Weasley girl_ was not supposed to need saving," Snape cut in. "The Dark Lord was quite clear, if I recall."

"What you recall, Severus, is irrelevant," Bellatrix snarled.

"You are certainly correct, Bellatrix," he said. "The Dark Lord's opinion is all that matters." He paused, letting them all – letting _Bellatrix_ – linger on just what the Dark Lord's opinion might be. "Shall we call him?"

No one moved. A moment ago they would have been tripping over each other for the honor of making the call, but now….

The professor raised his eyebrows expectantly. "Well?"

Now they all began to shift uncomfortably, glancing sidelong at Bellatrix. Amycus scuffed the toe of his black boot against the floor. His sister tugged her left sleeve down over her hand, bunching the fabric in her fist.

Draco could read the politics of it in their movements. An hour ago, Bellatrix had been the undisputed leader, the Dark Lord's right hand, while Snape had been the man of questionable heritage, the man who had spent more than a decade as Dumbledore's lapdog and had come away with the unmistakable stench of disloyalty. Now, Bellatrix might pay – who knew how much – for what she'd done to the Zabini boy, and Snape…Snape was the man who had killed Albus Dumbledore.

They all stood in silence for several long seconds. Draco's eyes followed Bellatrix's profile. Her cheeks were flushed, and the line of her back was stiff.

She let out a frustrated growl. "Well?" she snapped finally, echoing the professor. "Call him."

Amycus, the relief evident on his face, got his sleeve up first. He stepped forward and drew his wand, then pressed the tip against his skin. Air whistled between his gritted teeth as inky black snaked up his forearm.

Then he stepped back, and they all stood in their half circle, their eyes focused on the center of the room. They waited.

* * *

><p>The Dark Lord appeared without the slightest whisper of sound. He was swathed in his usual long, black robes, the bone white of his skin standing out against the darkness of the fabric.<p>

His posture was strangely gentle. His head was bowed, and his arms were folded lightly across his chest, so that Draco had the momentary, disconcerting thought that he was cradling something in his arms.

But it was the quiet that made him shiver. Most witches and wizards didn't have the skill to Apparate without a loud accompanying pop, and those that did, like Bellatrix or Dolohov, amplified their softer sounds for dramatic effect. The absolute silence of the Dark Lord's arrival made the hairs on the back of Draco's neck stand on end.

Suddenly, the figure inhaled and shuddered, as if waking from a deep sleep. Draco felt his mother give an involuntary start. The Dark Lord seemed to unfurl himself, letting his arms fall to his sides and lifting his skull. His eyes flicked opened.

They fixed on Bellatrix.

"He is dead, my Lord," she reported. Her lips split into a wide grin. About that fact, at least, she could afford to be triumphant. Draco knew that she was hoping the Dark Lord would be pleased enough with Dumbledore's death to overlook Blaise's.

There was a beat of silence as the Dark Lord took in her words.

And then he did something strange.

His head tipped back, his eyes sliding slowly shut once more, and his whole body began to tremble. The movements were subtle at first, then more visible beneath his robes, his limbs moving more and more erratically. All the while, a high, thin sound issued from between his lips.

It took Draco several seconds to realize that the Dark Lord was _laughing_.

The others began to realize it too, and they began to join in, until the foyer was filled with the manic cackles of more than half a dozen Death Eaters. Only he and Professor Snape remained still, their expressions stony. Beside him, Narcissa let out a few half-hearted titters, then fell silent, stiff with anxiety.

"Well," the Dark Lord said finally, recovering himself. His skin remained taut around his lips, features contorted in an eerily gleeful smile. "It seems young Draco is to be congratulated on his performance."

He began to turn, and Draco steeled himself for his gaze. But Rowle, who was still chuckling, muttered a word under his breath. "Hardly."

The crimson eyes darted across the room. "You have something to contribute, Rowle?" the Dark Lord sneered, his tone shifting in an instant to dangerous impatience.

Rowle flushed. "No, my Lord," he stammered. "I only meant…. That is –" He stopped short, and his back stiffened. Draco knew what was happening. Rowle's memories were being…reviewed.

After a few brief moments, the Dark Lord turned away. "Or rather, he said slowly, "_Severus_'s performance."

Draco's heart began to pound hard in his chest. The images of a dozen punishments flashed through his mind. But when the red eyes finally came to rest on him, he saw that the Dark Lord was still smiling. "There is no need to be afraid, dear Draco," he said. His voice was like velvet.

Draco swallowed. "I am not afraid, my Lord," he replied. He just managed to keep his voice low and calm, but his fingers clenched into tight fists at his sides. Whatever happened, he was _not_ going to show fear in front of Dolohov or Rowle or any of the rest of them.

The smile widened, and the eyes flicked momentarily to Bellatrix and then to Snape, dancing with obvious amusement. "Now, now, there is _certainly_ no need to lie," he replied. "You have performed with much more success than any of us expected."

"So I've been told," he said stiffly. Bellatrix let out a light laugh.

"You gained us entry into the castle, you came face to face with Dumbledore, you raised your wand…." He paused, still smiling. "…and you killed him." He made a movement that might have been a shrug. "That is, you _cast_ the Killing Curse. Do not worry, the _death_ itself will come in time. And with practice."

Draco didn't know how to respond, but the Dark Lord kept speaking.

"Yes…." he continued, suddenly thoughtful. He paused again, considering. "You have done very well, Draco. Indeed, I think it is time you joined our ranks in a more…official capacity." There was a sharp intake of breath, and Draco knew that the others had understood something that he hadn't. His mind began to race again.

"Don't you agree, Bellatrix?" he mused.

His aunt seemed startled, but she recovered quickly. "Of course, my Lord," she said smoothly. "You are very generous to do Draco such an honor...despite his failures…."

The Dark Lord's eyes narrowed. "It is hardly a failure when the old man is _dead_, is it?" he asked coolly.

"Of course, my Lord," Bellatrix repeated quickly. That seemed to soothe him, and she continued. "I only meant that it is exceedingly generous of you to show such favor to the Malfoy boy, despite his near constant need for _my_ help and supervision during the _months_ that it took him to complete a relatively simple task."

The Dark Lord let out an bemused laugh. "Ah, Bellatrix, is that _jealousy_ I detect? I was unaware that you required _constant_ praise."

Bellatrix gave a little, self-deprecating smile. "I do not, my Lord. I just wished to point out the circumstances of Draco's actions. This will, after all, be the first induction into our ranks since your return. It has…symbolic value."

"An astute observation," the Dark Lord replied. "Perhaps it _is_ time for young Draco to account for his delays…." he mused.

He continued to speak – "…you remain my most capable servant, Bellatrix…." – and Draco knew that he should be afraid of the way the conversation was shifting, but he hardly heard, because in a moment, he suddenly realized two things.

The first was that the honor that the Dark Lord wanted to bestow upon him was the Dark Mark. He wanted to make him a Death Eater.

The skin – the unblemished, unblackened skin – of his inner forearm began to tingle. The memory rose unbidden in his mind of the first time he could remember noticing his father's Dark Mark. He had wondered at it, first at its beauty, the intricacy of the skull and serpent intertwined, and later at the care with which his father kept it out of sight. When he had finally understood what it represented, he had wanted one for himself, and there had been years when his greatest desire was for the Dark Lord – then a blurry ideal – to offer it to him. He had dreamed of this moment for his entire life.

But now he found that he was filled with dread. He should be feeling triumph, coupled with a mean sort of self-satisfaction. After all, Greyback was growling softly behind him, and he remembered that the werewolf had never been accorded this honor. And he should be feeling relief. If he was going to convince the Dark Lord to spare Ginny's life, he would need to be high in his esteem.

But after everything that had happened…. If it came, he would accept the Mark with a grateful smile on his face. He had no choice. But he thought of Ginny and Blaise, and he tasted something bitter at the back of his throat.

The second was that Bellatrix really _didn't_ require constant praise, but neither did she care a single whit about the symbolism of this first induction. Her comments had been coldly calculated to draw the Dark Lord's attention away from the events that had taken place tonight. The less that was said about Dumbledore's death and the events surrounding it, the fewer questions asked, the better. So she had pointed out his early failures – the time it had taken to repair the cabinet, her _constant help and supervision_…. And she was distancing herself from him…calling him _the Malfoy boy_…. He felt a stab of anger, and he grit his teeth.

Bellatrix was throwing him to the wolves. She had killed Blaise, and now she was trying to save her own skin. And she was willing to sacrifice him for it.

He watched as Bellatrix said something more, her smile widening. His wand twitched at his side. All it would take was one swift flick, a whispered word, and she would be on the other side of the foyer, slumped at the base of a wall the way Ginny had been, the way Blaise had been…the way they maybe still were….

"Draco!" He was jolted back to reality by Bellatrix's harsh hiss. He realized that she had turned to look at him, and that everyone else in the room had done the same. His eyes caught on Dolohov, who was watching him keenly, a strangely pleased look on his face, as if he had just had a delightful realization.

The Dark Lord was looking at him expectantly. He had obviously just asked him a question.

Draco glanced at his aunt one last time.

And then he met the Dark Lord's eyes and focused as hard as he could on the memory of Bellatrix confronting Blaise and Ginny at the base of the staircase, and then Bellatrix shouting the Killing Curse, her wand pointed squarely at Blaise's chest and that look of unfettered joy on her face.

There were several long moments when the Dark Lord kept their gazes locked, and Draco knew that he had seen. Other images from the night flashed across his mind in quick succession. The Dark Lord rifled through his memories as if flipping through a book. Not a quick review this time, as it had been with Rowle. He wanted the entire story, and Draco let him have it.

The intrusion withdrew as subtly as it had come, and then the Dark Lord turned slowly, deliberately. No one spoke.

"Symbolic value," he said finally, lingering just long enough on the words to let each individual syllable form completely on his tongue.

"My Lord?" Bellatrix murmured, recognizing her own phrase.

"Symbolic value," he repeated, just as slowly. Then, "Tell me, Bellatrix, do you also consider disobedience to have…symbolic value?"

Bellatrix blinked once. Then suddenly, she flushed with realization, and she shot Draco a look of such unbridled hatred that if he had had any emotion to spare on fear of her, he would have taken a step back. As it was, he met her gaze, unflinching. "My Lord," she said, "I have never disobeyed. I merely –"

"_Silence!_" he hissed. He let the silence hang. No one dared move. Finally, he spoke. "The Weasley girl was not to be touched."

"But, my Lord…." Bellatrix said, her words coming out in a pleading, garbled rush now. "She was…I would never have…the others…."

"Ah, yes," the Dark Lord said coldly. "The others." And then, so quickly that Draco hardly registered the movement, he drew his wand and gave a small flick. A few yards away, Rowle crumpled to the ground and began to scream. "The rest of you…." He continued speaking over the man's deafening shrieks, which jarred so harshly with the complete silence of a few minutes prior. "_Le__ave us_."

They didn't need to be told twice. "Severus," he added as they moved in a wide circle out of the room, stepping around Rowle's writhing body, "stay. I will have need of you, after."

Over Rowle's screeching and the pain at his elbow where his mother was dragging him from the room, Draco registered the significance of the last statement, and he knew the others did too. Bellatrix had fallen. Snape was in favor now.

As he rounded the corner, he felt a cruel smile tug unexpectedly at the corners of his lips. His mother pulled him deeper into the house, obviously trying to put as much distance as possible between them and the foyer, but he could still hear Rowle's agonized screams echoing off the floor to ceiling marble. He found himself hoping that Bellatrix would be next, though he knew she wouldn't.

The Dark Lord had elevated Snape to her position, and she would idle in disgrace. For Bellatrix, that would be a punishment much worse than pain.

His mother drew up short at the entrance to the kitchen. She turned, ashen-faced, to say something to him, but just then, someone grabbed Draco by his other arm. He whirled to see Dolohov standing at his shoulder.

"I saw your face in there, boy," he said lowly, his lips curved in a knowing smirk. "You want her dead. For what she did to your little friend."

Draco didn't answer. He knew that Dolohov was only taking the golden opportunity to encourage dissension between a Malfoy and a Lestrange.

"That won't do it, you know," the man continued, glancing back in the direction of the foyer. Rowle was still screaming. The sound was higher-pitched now, a desperate keening for release. "Nice trick, showing the Dark Lord what you wanted him to see. Very neat. But he won't kill her. Not for killing that boy. Not even for trying to kill that Weasley slut."

"Antonin –" his mother began, but he shot her a look, and she fell silent. Still, Draco didn't speak.

Dolohov leaned closer to speak the next words beside Draco's ear. "Bide your time, boy," he said. "Soon enough."

Draco shut his eyes, remembering Bellatrix's harsh voice. _Soon enough_, she'd said, staring at Ginny over Blaise's prone form. He shook himself. Dolohov was waiting for a response, but Draco just held his gaze, expression impassive, and after several seconds, the man made a scoffing sound and released his elbow. As he withdrew, Draco realized how right he'd been. In this moment, more than almost anything, Draco wanted Bellatrix dead.

But he could wait.

Without a word to his mother, he freed his arm from her grip and crossed into the kitchen. He found Dusty first, cowering beneath a blanket beside the stack of firewood.

"Parchment and a quill," he snapped.

Dusty glanced from Draco to the doorway, from which the sounds of Rowle's torture were still issuing, and back again. "_Now_," Draco growled. The Elf jerked in fear, then scrambled up and away.

A few moments later, he returned. Draco grabbed the quill and scrawled four words across the sheet.

_Tell me you're alive._

He folded the page and thrust it into Dusty's hands. "Ares is still in my dormitory," he said. "Find Apollo, and see that he brings this to Ginny Weasley." The Elf was near-paralyzed with fear. "Dusty," Draco said, looking him straight in the eye. "Do you understand? This is very important. _Ginny Weasley_."

Dusty gave several emphatic nods in quick succession. Then, with a loud pop, he was gone.

Draco took a step back and swayed where he stood. He gripped the edge of the long table in the center of the room to steady himself. He found that he was breathing hard, as if he'd been running. Until he'd written the words, he hadn't really, seriously considered the possibility that Ginny might be dead too. But there had been so much blood….

He stood there for a long time – for what felt like hours but was probably only minutes – unable to shake the images flooding his mind. _Blaise dead. The seriousness in Blaise's eyes as he'd told him to be careful, in those last moments in the corridor. The anguish and hatred in Ginny's as Snape had dragged him away. Blaise dead. Potter's face, contorted with fury and vengeance, as he'd pursued them across the grounds, sending curses hurtling past them and screaming that Snape was the worst kind of coward. Ginny dead…. _

His mother was still standing in the doorway when he left the kitchen. He tried to walk past her, but she spoke. "He was just a _child_," she murmured. "You're all just children…."

At that, he actually laughed. It came out flat and cold and sardonic. "Don't be naïve, Mother," he said. He pushed past her. "We haven't been children for years."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>I am already hard at work on the next chapter, so you definitely won't have to wait another 6 months. Again, for those of you who are still reading: thank you, thank you, thank you for your patience. Please leave a review.


	38. Reality

**Author's Note:** Thank you for your lovely reviews of the last chapter. It was so nice to see all of those familiar names (and new ones!) popping up in my inbox! Now, without further ado…

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 38: Reality<strong>

_The world came to her as if through a thick cloth. There had been pain – pain so intense, so all-consuming, so _all-encompassing_ that she was dimly surprised that she remained now that it had gone. But now her senses felt smothered, and there was only a dull awareness of faces and frantic movement and sounds._

_Everything was bathed in green – floor, walls, and ceiling steeped in a sickly glow. Far away, someone was yelling. She blinked. Blaise's face came into focus, looming above her. His lips were moving, and she realized that the distant yelling wasn't distant at all. Blaise was saying something, but all she could make out was an incoherent rise and fall of tones._

_His hands were on her shoulders. He was shaking her, his face twisted with panic. _

"_Ginny…." She heard her name. A different voice this time, just higher enough to thread its way into her consciouness. Not Blaise, then. Draco. She tried to look up, but her vision began to swim once more, the corridor receding into a blur of shapes and colors._

_The next thing she was aware of was a sudden shout, and this time, the sound cut through her like a knife. It was still Draco, but now he was crying out, his voice a strange, strangled mix of desperation and terror. There was a beat of incomprehension – why did he sound so afraid? – before she remembered where she was and – oh Merlin – what he'd done._

_She felt a rush of horror, and her vision cleared just as Bellatrix Lestrange stepped into view._

_The face hovered above her, black eyes sparkling. The mouth was split in a wide, crooked grin, and as she watched, a little pink tongue darted out to moisten the cracked lips. The woman was hungry, nearly panting with anticipation._

"_Well, isn't this a lovely surprise?"_

_The voice was a high trill, almost shrill in its eagerness, worlds away from the soothing tones that had once tried to lull her into blackness like a silken anesthetic. Still, something about it reminded her forcibly of the Chamber, and another shot of adrenaline stabbed through her. Maybe it was the chemical mix of pain and fear and helplessness – a mix she'd only ever felt with Tom._

_Blaise stepped in front of her, half obscuring her view. She saw Bellatrix's smile twitch. With a twinge of panic, she recognized the expression: amusement. Blaise had to leave. Now._

_She opened her mouth, but the words ran up against a blockage in her throat. She coughed, and liquid filled her mouth. She tasted metal. Blood. Her vision swam again, but this time she struggled against it. She thought again of the Chamber. She had struggled then, and she had lived. But then…. Then Draco had come, and Harry._

_And now…. If she focused, she could still hear Draco shouting. But the sound was fading away, and anyway, he couldn't – wouldn't? – save her anymore. Not after what he'd done. And Harry was nowhere to be seen._

_Bellatrix was speaking again. "…traitor…rare treat…Merlin knows…." She concentrated on the sound, latching onto the words like they were a lifeline. When her sight cleared once more, she saw that Blaise had drawn his wand._

"_She's worth nothing to you," he said darkly._

_Another twitch. She tried to yell again, tasted more metal. Leave, Blaise…leave now. "On the contrary," Bellatrix replied. "I will admit that I am tired, but the traitorous little slut is at least worth the energy it will take to make her scream." She paused. Her wand tapped a strangely precise rhythm against her leg. She cocked her head thoughtfully. "But the real question is: what is she worth to _you_?"_

_Blaise didn't speak. But he didn't move._

_He had to leave – dammit, Blaise, leave! She tried again, nearly choked with the strain of it. Her eyes began to well with frustration just as Bellatrix began to laugh. "It seems that we have done the impossible," she said. "Found something that a Zabini cares about more than himself. Your mother will be so disappointed." A pause, the longest of Ginny's life, and then, "No matter. The slut can make another son easily enough."_

_Everything seemed to slow. Bellatrix's wand rose, her eyes gleamed, and Ginny watched the six syllables leave her tongue before she heard them. "AVADA KEDAVRA!"_

_And then the worst part – the absolute worst part: the way Blaise flinched. The way watching the involuntary jerk of his shoulders was like watching him realize he was about to die._

_The green light collided with his body, and a moment later, she felt his weight as he crumpled to the ground._

_The pressure forced another cough from her lungs, and the heavy cloth finally tore an instant before her body recognized the curse. In that instant, all of the sounds of the corridor rushed in – bellowed spells and screams, hexes colliding with stone, Bellatrix's laughter – and she looked up, met Draco's eyes._

_And then the dark magic reached her, and pain drove straight through her chest. She saw white, and the sounds and sights of the corridor withdrew once more, leaving only burning and searing and the heaviness of Blaise's body on her own._

_Blackness flooded in from the edges of her vision._

_And she realized, with a sudden clarity that she knew she would lose with her consciouness: they had done this, she and Draco. Together, they had done this._

_Blaise had been their friend._

_And they had killed him._

* * *

><p>She woke. She felt too warm, and her throat were burning. Her chest throbbed with a dull ache. There was a soft <em>drip drip drip<em> sound coming from somewhere to her left. At the thought of liquid, she ran the tip of her tongue over her lips. They were cracked with dryness, and there was a clot of blood where they'd split open. The metallic taste sent a jolt of panic through her – _oh Merlin – Blaise_ – and her eyes flew open.

She recognized the arched ceiling of the Hospital Wing.

"Ginny, sweetheart?" Her mum's voice, from her right. She started to turn on instinct, but a sudden, sharp pain twisted through her breastbone. She stopped short, breathing hard. After a moment, the sensation dulled back down.

"Ginny," her mum repeated. "Here – water."

Ginny licked her lips again. But when her mum moved to support her head so that she could drink, she found herself murmuring a question instead. "Blaise?" she asked.

A beat of silence. She swallowed thickly. "He didn't…," her mum began. She trailed off clumsily, but Ginny didn't need to hear the rest. Her stomach clenched. Her mum recovered. "Minerva had his body sent to his mum in France."

She shut her eyes, trying to keep her breathing steady. "And Draco?" Her voice cracked on the name, half from thirst and half from the sob that was working its way up her throat.

Molly sighed. "Gone," she said, "with Severus and the other Death Ea–" – she stopped short, as if she was worried the term would upset her daughter. "And the others," she finished, her lips setting in a tight, anxious line.

Ginny tried to breathe, but the air seemed thick and heavy. It caught in her throat.

_Blaise was dead. And so was Professor Dumbledore. Because Draco had killed him._

The thoughts began to pound through her head in a cycle, an unbearable string of realizations.

_Draco was a Death Eater. He was on Tom's side. And so was Professor Snape. Blaise was dead._

Her mum was speaking again, but she could hardly hear the words. She turned her face away, and this time, she welcomed the sharp stab of pain. She felt dampness on her cheeks where tears had leaked out from beneath her lids.

Her mum persisted. "Honey…have some water…honey…please."

She didn't respond. _Draco was a Death Eater. Professor Dumbledore was dead. Draco had killed him. Blaise was dead. He'd been trying to save her._ She clenched her fists and tightened her chest. She held herself rigid, letting the pain intensify until her vision began to spot and finally blacken.

"Ginny!" Her mum sounded panicked.

_Blaise was dead. His lifeless body a channel away._

She was finally losing consciousness now, slipping into comforting darkness. She would rather be dreaming. For once, reality was worse than her nightmares.

* * *

><p>When she woke again, there was still a strange, repetitive sound. But now it was from her right, and not a dripping. It was more of a scraping, low and soft. She grit her teeth and shifted, expecting a sharp stab of pain. It didn't come. She let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding and cracked open her eyes.<p>

The sound stopped.

"Hey there."

Neville was sitting where her mum had been, a small, slim book in his lap. His fingers were resting at the top edges of the pages, propping it open. She realized that the sound had been the pads of his thumbs running a steady rhythm over the heavily dog-eared page corners.

He saw her looking and gave her a small, crooked smile. "_Pocket Gowshawk_," he said, shutting the book and tilting it toward her so she could read the faded cover: _Goshawk's Guide to Herbology, 12th Pocket Edition_. "Can't help myself when I'm stressed," he said.

She knew that. She tried to move her lips to say so, but they felt heavy, weighed down. She felt strangely numb. It was the way she'd felt after Cedric…as if she didn't have the _energy_ to sob or scream or rage. All she could muster was a nod.

He set the book on the table next to her bed. He kept talking, his tone forcibly light, as he filled a glass with water. "Do you remember the St. John's-wort Professor Sprout let me plant before Christmas?"

He glanced at her. She nodded again.

"Well, it's finally budding, which means I finally got the nutrient levels right in the soil." He scooted up to the edge of his chair to reach behind her. She knew what he wanted, so she lifted herself a little so that he could slide his arm beneath her pillow, then let him help her brace herself on her elbows. "Got it?" he asked. The movement caused a dull ache to creep up her chest, but she steeled herself and nodded a third time. "Professor Sprout says she'll plant more this summer," he continued, pushing the pillow up against the head of the bed so she could sit back against it.

He handed her the glass, and she lifted it carefully to her lips, took a sip. It felt wonderfully cool as it slid down her parched throat. She let out a relieved breath.

"And the plants will probably be robust enough by next term…."

Neville's words were measured and bright, but she could tell he was trying hard to keep them flowing. He didn't know what to say about what had happened, or he wanted to keep her mind off it, or both. A rush of affection for him threaded through the numbness. Neville had always been so sweet – _too_ sweet – to her.

But, she realized with another twinge of feeling, she didn't want to be coddled. Not now.

"…so we can start picking the flowers to dry them out…."

"Neville."

He trailed off, then finally met her gaze. His eyes were filled with anxiety, and for some reason, the realization that he was worried for_ her_, made her throat start to burn again. Not with thirst this time, but with the stinging blockage of a trapped sob. She swallowed with difficulty. "Just tell me what happened, all right?" she said levelly.

"As long as you don't try to knock yourself out again," he said. His tone was still light, but the nervous look he gave her told her he was only half-joking. Her mum must have told him. "Your mum'll hex me," he added, confirming.

She tried for a smile this time, a reassuring one, but she couldn't quite manage it. She settled on another tight lipped nod.

A beat of silence, then he exhaled heavily. "Do you remember anything?"

"No," she replied. "Not after…." _Blaise was killed. _Her voice caught, and she took another sip of water to cover the sound. She kept the cool glass pressed against her lips. "Not after," she finished lamely.

Neville nodded. "Well," he started, "Harry was up in the tower, hidden. Dumbledore had put him in a body-bind, so he couldn't do anything until after Dumbledore had…died." _Until after Draco had murdered him._ "He came down after the Death Eaters and found you and…Zabini…at the bottom of the staircase. You were bleeding…a lot…and he wanted to take you to the Hospital Wing himself, but the Death Eaters were fleeing, so he handed you off to Ron. And that's how you ended up here."

"Harry went after the Death Eaters?" she asked. "Alone?"

"He's fine," he said quickly. "He hasn't taken Dumbledore's death well, obviously. And they got away. But he's fine." There was a long pause. "But Ginny –" Neville added finally, his face twisting into a pained expression. "Malfoy was with them."

She remembered what her mum had said earlier. _Gone, with Severus and the other Death Ea – and the others._ "I know," she managed.

"And Harry said that in the tower, he –"

"I know." She cut him off sharply, then instantly regretted her tone. "I'm sorry," she said.

"No, _I'm_ sorry," Neville said, rubbing his palms over the tops of his trouser legs anxiously. "I just wanted to be sure you knew, before someone brought it up, and…."

She put a hand on his arm. "It's okay, Nev," she said.

He smiled, reaching up to cover her hand with his own and giving it a quick squeeze. He held her gaze. "It's going to be all right, Ginny," he said seriously.

She didn't think so – how could it ever be _all right_ again? – but she didn't contradict him, and after a moment he continued. "The only other person hurt was Bill," he said. _Bill? Oh Merlin, what had –_ "He's all right now," Neville added quickly. "It was Greyback. He – he wounded him, and he'll have scars. But he's all right. Your mum and dad are with him now at St. Mungo's. They've been coming and going between. Madam Pomfrey wanted to transfer you there too…said she thinks they might be able to do something about your…."

His gaze shifted to where her pink scar was visible above her t-shirt. It wasn't nearly as red and raw as it had been at the base of the staircase, but it was angrier-looking than it had been yesterday, when she'd woken to Dumbledore and Snape talking at the foot of her bed, just before Blaise had barreled in and sworn at her. Had that really been just yesterday? It seemed like a year ago. Everything was so different now….

"…sensitivity to curses," Neville said, "and that she should've transferred you sooner. She was pretty frantic actually, but she didn't want to move you until you woke up."

Ginny was still trying to take all of that in when the door to the Hospital Wing opened. She expected it to be her parents, but a head of mussed, jet black hair appeared around the doorframe. _Harry._

In the second before he saw them and realized she was awake, she got a look at him. His brow was furrowed with exhaustion, and as he shut the door behind him, taking care that it didn't bang against its hinges, he ran his left hand through his hair in his usual gesture of anxiety. But more than that, his face was drawn with grief, his cheeks colorless and his mouth set in a grim line. He'd really cared for the Headmaster, hadn't he?

He didn't look up until he was a few steps from the door, but when he finally caught sight of her, conscious and upright, he exhaled heavily. She watched the line of his shoulders relax ever so slightly. "Merlin, Ginny," he said. He crossed the remaining space to her bedside, and with a movement that seemed almost instinctual, leaned over and pressed a relieved kiss to her hairline.

His lips were cool and dry, and she remembered the last time he'd done that, the night she'd chosen his side in all of this. A sudden, horrible shiver of regret raced up her spine. Maybe she shouldn't have. Maybe if she hadn't, if she'd just gone through with Tom's task, Blaise would still be alive. The blockage in her throat burned.

Neville had risen to get a chair from the next bed over, and Harry murmured a thanks and sank down. He ran his palms agitatedly over his face, then reached back with his left hand to grip the still-tense curve where his shoulder met his neck. "We were so worried."

Ginny finally managed to push down the sob. _No_, she thought fiercely, feeling a savage stab of anger. None of this would have happened if Draco hadn't let his sadistic aunt into the castle. If he had been honest with them. If he had been honest with _her_. Blaise would still be alive. The image of shoulders flinching away from green light flashed across her mind. She shut her eyes.

"Ginny." When she looked up, Harry was looking at her, brow furrowed, and Neville's eyes were trained on her fingers, which had fisted in her blanket. She loosened them.

Harry reached into his back pocket and pulled out a crumpled sheet of parchment, haphazardly folded. He seemed to hesitate, then with a determined movement, set it in her lap. "This came for you."

She smoothed it out.

_Tell me you're alive._

Her jaw set, and she had to resist the sudden urge to rip the page in half. It was twelve hours too late for him to be caring about her safety, she thought cruelly. _If he had been honest with her…_

There was a beat of silence. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see them both studying her, waiting for a reaction. They'd read it then, and it was obvious who'd written it. She exhaled slowly and then refolded it. "When?" she asked. Her voice came out cold and even. It was an unnecessary question. Did it really matter?

"A few hours ago," Harry replied. "I'm sorry, but we had to open it. McGonagall's been screening everything coming into the castle since last night. For security reasons."

She proffered the uneven square. He looked at her uncertainly, but she just held his gaze. After a moment, he took it back. Neville leaned forward, as if he might protest that she should write back, but then he swallowed and held his silence.

Just then, the door to the Hospital Wing swung open once more. Cho Chang slipped inside. She was carrying a small vase of flowers in the crook of her left arm.

"Oh," she said, catching sight of them. "I didn't realize you'd have visitors…or that you'd be awake, really," she added, giving an awkward half-shrug. She shifted from foot to foot, then crossed the room to set the flowers on the bedside table.

"But I heard about Blaise Zabini," she said. She surveyed the vase. "Useless, I know. Two years ago, after the Triwizard, I couldn't care less about flowers. They didn't help _at all_. But…." She paused and met Ginny's eyes, her expression serious. "…they didn't hurt either."

She held Ginny's gaze for a moment, then exhaled and looked away, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Ginny had to appreciate that Cho had brought the flowers because Blaise was dead, not as some cheesy get-well cliché. "Thanks," she said. Cho nodded.

"Are you two going?" Cho asked after a pause. "It's starting soon."

Ginny's brow furrowed. Neville glanced at his watch, started, then shot her a nervous glance. "Yeah. I didn't realize the time, but I wasn't sure if I should say –"

Harry sighed in a way that suggested that _he_ hadn't been sure if he should say either. "It's the funeral," he explained.

It wasn't until he said it that Ginny realized they were all wearing black. For one crazy moment, she thought they were talking about _Blaise's_ funeral. But then she remembered that they'd sent his body to France. She swallowed. Dumbledore's then.

She found herself struggling up, trying to move her legs over the edge of the bed.

"What are you doing?" Neville asked.

"Going," she said. The movement was making her chest tight, and her breaths were coming hard.

"I don't think that's a good –"

She cut him off. "I'm going. I have to." She wouldn't be able to go to Blaise's funeral. Hell, he probably wouldn't get one. And somehow, the thought of missing this one too….

Harry was looking at her strangely, but then he just nodded, as if he understood. "Cho, can you get the door?" he said. "Neville, can you help her on that side?" Ginny gave him a grateful look. Together, he and Neville helped her out of bed, and then Harry shifted so that most of her weight was against his side.

They moved slowly out of the wing and then into the corridor, Cho and Neville walking slightly ahead. They finally reached the entrance hall. Light and a warm breeze were filtering in from outside, and scores of black-robed mourners were milling about the lawn, forming little groups and then breaking away, speaking in low, somber voices.

"You okay?" Harry murmured near her ear.

She nodded and gripped his arm harder, leaning into him. Together, they followed their friends out into the incongruous sunlight to watch as the greatest wizard of his time was lowered into the ground.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note<strong>: Four things. First, in case this causes confusion: at this point, Ginny thinks that Draco killed Dumbledore. If you read Chapter 36 closely, you'll see that she lost consciousness after he cast the Killing Curse, so she is unaware that Draco didn't manage to kill Dumbledore and that Snape had to step in.

Second, thank you again to Mr. Norrell for the many long conversations. Your ideas and enthusiasm really helped me to refine my plot outline.

Third, I know this is kind of old news now, but what did you guys think of that JKR interview about Ron and Hermione? As a Ron (and RHr) lover, I had a hard time digesting it, but I'd love to hear how you guys reacted!

And last but not least, I think it's safe to say that these past two chapters have and will be the high water mark of angst in this story. I hope it wasn't too grim – or rather, I hope it was the appropriate amount of grim for the plot. Thoughts?

The action picks up again in the next chapter, so stay tuned!


	39. Family

**Chapter 39: Family**

_Two days later_

The fire crackled in the grate. He had been staring into the flames for hours now, ever since Dusty had edged into the room with a dinner tray and asked shakily if he wanted more light and warmth. He hadn't responded, but Dusty had lit the grate anyway before retreating.

He was lost in thought, only dimly aware of the way the colors were flickering before his eyes, weaving and blurring together. The dinner tray sat untouched at his elbow.

Ginny hadn't written back. He had no idea whether she was alive or dead. He had started a dozen letters – to her parents, to Githead and the others in her army of brothers, even to _Potter_ – but he hadn't sent them. He had pride, after all, and even though Weasley might be dead, even though he felt like his insides were tight and twisted with fear, even though he felt like his lungs were weighed down with the terror of it…

He couldn't bring himself to admit to them that he needed their help with something to do with her. Three days ago he'd known everything about Ginny Weasley. Now he didn't even know if she was alive. And beyond that, he dreaded a reply letter confirming that she'd died at the base of that wall, that she'd bled her life out onto the castle floor. As long as Ginny didn't write, he didn't know she was alive, but he also didn't know she was dead.

A loud sound broke into his thoughts. It was followed by a shout, and then the rumble of raised voices. He stood. When he reached the door, he heard his mother pass quickly down the corridor outside. He cracked the door open. The voices cleared.

He made out a man's voice first, and it sounded labored, as if whoever it was was lifting or dragging something heavy across the foyer. "Come on, you cowardly…little…_swine_."

"Just leave him, Amycus. We can do well enough right here," a woman replied, trailing off into a high-pitched giggle. He recognized her by her laugh: Alecto.

There was the sound of something falling to the ground, followed by a low groan.

"Not here." Draco started – it was his father's voice. But Lucius had been in prison for a year.

On impulse, he pushed open the door and started toward the stairs, but he hesitated on the landing. He looked down into the foyer.

His father was standing at the edge of his view. Even from this distance, Lucius looked exhausted – even more so than when Draco had last visited him in Azkaban. His hair looked lank and unwashed, and his skin was pale and tight around his drawn features, as if it had been stretched too thin. Narcissa was beside him, her arm looped through his, and it seemed to be taking him some effort not to lean against her. He looked weak, and Draco knew that the Carrows could see it too.

"Worried we'll get blood stains on your clean tiles, Malfoy?" Alecto scoffed. There was a man collapsed on the ground beside her, groaning intermittently. He was wearing a gray uniform. It was caked with a thick mixture of mud and blood, but Draco could still recognize it as the one the human guards had worn at Azkaban ever since the Dementors had come over to the Dark Lord and abandoned their posts. Amycus was circling the man in anticipation. Suddenly, he pulled his leg back and landed a savage kick in his abdomen.

"_Silence_," he said. The man gave a last strangled moan, then fell silent, his face contorted with pain. There were tears coating his cheeks. Draco gritted his teeth and looked away. Bellatrix, Dolohov, and four others who were still wearing their masks stood to one side. Snape was near the door, looking vaguely unimpressed by the scene.

"This is _my_ house," Lucius was saying, "and I say you will play with your prize elsewhere."

"Oh, it hasn't been your house for ages, Lucius," Amycus returned, looking up and grinning. "And it looks like it won't be for some time yet, what with the Dark Lord taking it as headquarters."

Draco's eyes widened. He glanced at his parents. Narcissa looked just as surprised as he felt, but his father just flushed up to his ears and set his lips in a tight line. They must have told him at some point between breaking him out of Azkaban and bringing him back here. He could almost hear Alecto triumphantly crowing the news.

"It is still my house as of this moment!" Lucius said. "And _again_, I say –"

"Tsk, tsk, Lucius…." Alecto cut him off. "So little gratitude. Surely you don't expect us to take orders from you anymore? We just broke you out of prison, or can't you remember things clearly after your…ordeal?"

"Yes, of course I remember!" Lucius's flush had deepened. He was spluttering now, and Draco curled his hands into angry fists. His father had to _shut up_. They didn't respect him. Maybe they never had, but now they didn't even feel the need to pretend. Ever since his failure at the Ministry last summer, Lucius had been well and truly disgraced. And playing the Carrows' childish little games wasn't helping. It just completed the picture of a manic, unkempt, incoherent man who had fallen very, very far.

But his father was still speaking. "…and I don't see how that's relevant…." Draco could see that the others found it amusing. Dolohov was smirking now, and Bellatrix was grinning. Fists still clenched, Draco started down the staircase.

"Azkaban can do that, you know. Addle…lesser minds," Amycus was saying. "Mind you, many of us chose to go to Azkaban rather than spit on our own beliefs, all those years ago. And we came out with _our_ brains un-addled."

"That is open to argument, Amycus," Draco cut in. They all turned to stare at him. But without pausing, and without looking up, he crossed the room toward the corridor on the far side. "Father," he said firmly, still walking, "a word."

There was a beat of silence, and then a few of the others began to titter with laughter. "You should listen to your son, Lucius, darling," Bellatrix said giddily. "He has more credibility than you now."

Draco had known it was too much to hope that his father would follow him from the foyer without protest. "Draco," Lucius said, sounding shocked, "we will have a word when I am ready to –"

Draco raised his eyes, expression hard, and met his father's gaze. He held it, then repeated, more slowly this time: "A word."

Another pause. Lucius's jaw set, and for a moment it looked as if he might protest again, but finally, he swallowed and followed Draco out into the hall. Narcissa stayed by his side, and the three of them moved into the study. Conversation started up again behind them, and as his mother closed the door, Draco heard a scream. Despite himself, he flinched. The Carrow twins weren't wasting any time.

Neither did his father. "What precisely do you think you are doing?" Lucius hissed. Draco stood calmly to the right of the desk. "How dare you speak to me like that in front of others? How dare you embarrass me in that way?"

"Enough, Father," Draco cut in. Lucius's eyes widened, and he inhaled sharply, but before he had a chance to start up again, Draco spoke. "_You_ were embarrassing _yourself_," he said coldly. "Did you think engaging in verbal territory-marking with the Carrows _and losing_ would increase your standing?"

"How dare –" Lucius started. He fumbled to get the words out past his growing fury. "How dare you – and your _solution_ – and you didn't think speaking to me as if I am no longer head of this family would _decrease_ my standing? You stupid, little –"

"Hardly," he replied. "I am sorry to be the one to inform you, but you have no standing left to decrease. I, on the other hand, _do_. You did not reflect well on me. Go wash up, Father, and do not speak to the others again until you can control yourself."

"You presumptuous, insolent –" Lucius jerked forward, as if he might hit him, but Narcissa held his arm.

"You said yourself," Draco continued flatly, "that my – _my _– rising in the Dark Lord's esteem was the only way to come out of this with the family power intact. If that remains your goal, we do things my way."

"_Your_ way –"

This time, it was Narcissa who interrupted. "He's right, Lucius," she said. She looked at her son, and Draco read something strange in her eyes – a mixture of deference and…sadness? But before he could place it, she turned, and her fingers tightened around her husband's arm. "Draco has done well for us, these past months. You placed your confidence in him when you left. There is no shame in continuing to trust his judgment until you have…recovered."

Draco met his father's eyes. They stood in silence for a moment, and he knew that they were both thinking the same thing. This was about more than deferring to his judgment for a few more days. Narcissa was offering Lucius a way to keep his pride, but this was about recognizing that the son had succeeded where the father had failed, and that Draco would be making the decisions now.

Finally, Lucius looked away and stepped back toward his wife. It was all the confirmation Draco needed. He turned on his heel and left the room. As he walked back down the corridor toward the foyer, he considered what to do about the Azkaban guard. The Carrows made him shiver with disgust. They tortured and killed for sport, and though he knew they were no worse than Bellatrix and Dolohov, the latter at least seemed to take pride in their _skill_, in the precision of their work. The Carrows on the other hand…the image of their doughy faces creased with manic laughter flashed across his mind. Alecto and Amycus loved blood and guts and _mess_. He tasted bile at the back of his throat.

He would tell them to leave. But no – he had to choose his battles. If they refused, which they must, since they'd refused his father, then what? No…he would have to let them stay. And anyway, he'd heard the rumors about their dungeons…about bodies and chains and Muggle torture devices…. Maybe the guard was better off here, though not by much.

He was so deep in thought that it wasn't until he reached the end of the corridor that he realized the screaming had stopped. He looked up. The guard wasn't moving anymore, and Alecto was gesturing at her brother accusingly. "Too quick! Too quick! I told you to start slow!"

"How was I to know he couldn't take the slightest _Cruciatus_, anyway?" He aimed another vicious kick at the guard's – the corpse's – belly. "I dragged him all this way." He spat. "What a fucking waste."

Draco swallowed the bitterness on his tongue. The man was lucky to have died so quickly. When he spoke, he managed to sound cold and unruffled. "Clean it up," he said, glancing pointedly at the pool of blood spreading from beneath the body. "And yes," he added, unable to keep the venom from seeping into his voice, "I _am_ worried you'll stain_ my_ clean tiles."

* * *

><p>He had nearly reached his bedroom door when he heard a voice behind him. "A moment, Mr. Malfoy." He turned sharply to see Professor Snape standing at the top of the staircase, his arms folded behind his back.<p>

Draco waited.

Snape's eyes narrowed as the silence lengthened. He had clearly expected a response. But finally, when none was forthcoming, he held something out with his right hand. Draco stepped forward and took it: a folded Prophet.

"What –" he began, but when he looked up again, the professor had already turned his back and was descending the stairs.

Draco took the paper back to his room and shut the door before unfolding it and – he froze.

The headline was more subdued than usual – it didn't flash or whirl but instead flickered soberly at the top of the page: "_ALBUS DUMBLEDORE BURIED: WIZARDS, MAGICAL CREATURES PAY RESPECTS_." And beneath, taking up half the page above the obituary, was a picture of the tomb with various mourners arrayed behind it. He recognized Fudge, Scrimgeour, Umbridge…there was Potter, head bowed…. And leaning against him, her eyes seemingly fixed directly on the camera, was Ginny. _Alive._

* * *

><p>Ginny was discharged from St. Mungo's late the next afternoon.<p>

"There. That's all right, isn't it, dear?" her mum asked, her voice low and soothing. Molly ran her palm briskly across the top of the plumped pillow, then along the edge of the bedsheet, smoothing out creases with practiced efficiency.

Then she stepped back, her fingers lingering for a moment in her daughter's hair. For an instant, it looked as if she might say something more, but then she shook herself. "Well, I'd better leave you to sleep," she said. "Doctor's orders, after all." She forced a smile and left the room, closing the door carefully behind her.

Ginny leaned back and stared up at her bedroom ceiling. Madam Pomfrey had transferred her to the hospital soon after the funeral. A grim, thin-lipped nurse had run a half dozen tests, and a few hours later, the mediwizard had come in, frowning and clicking his tongue. He'd reported that Harry's cutting curse had gone deeper than Madam Pomfrey had imagined. The dark magic had – he'd made a helpless gesture, struggling to explain in words they could understand – it had _bound_ itself to her tissue, causing a sensitivity to further dark magic beyond that caused by the standard curse.

It was a rare feature of some spells, which, obviously, led to complications. The wound had to be closed immediately, to prevent fatal blood loss. But then, ideally, it had to be re-opened in a controlled environment, and the dark magic removed. Madam Pomfrey hadn't known, and she'd left the curse to fester. Removing it by hand now would be a long, tedious process. The better alternative was a two-month regimen of…at that point he'd produced several large bottles of some kind of salve, off-yellow and thick. She'd have to administer it twice daily – once in the morning and once before bed, all along her scar. It would leech the dark magic out by degrees. It would sap her energy too, so he hoped she didn't have anything crucial planned for the summer. _Just making up her O.W.L.S._, Fred had said, smiling brightly. She'd almost laughed at that.

As soon as they'd gotten back to the Burrow, Molly had shepherded her straight to bed. The salve wasn't all that bad – it made her a bit bone-weary, sure, but nothing she hadn't experienced during the roughest parts of Quidditch season. But she didn't mind being left alone to "sleep." The numbness of three days ago had given way to a tight, heavy, painful anger – at Tom and Bellatrix and _Draco_ and….

Her fingers fisted in her sheets and she swallowed, narrowing her eyes at a dark smudge on the ceiling until the burning in her throat died down. She didn't think she could bear full days of her parents and brothers looking at her with sad, sympathetic eyes and treating her like glass. She was pretty sure she'd snap, and that was the last thing she wanted to do when they were trying so hard to make her feel like part of the family again.

She exhaled through her nose. Draco hadn't treated her like glass after Ced died. In fact, he'd reminded her again and again that Tom had killed him. She'd hated it then. They'd had a massive row about it. Maybe that's what she needed now: a massive row. At least then she'd have an outlet. As it was, every time she thought about Blaise, she felt a rush of pain and anger so intense that it felt like her insides, from the top of her stomach all the way up her throat, were being twisted between someone's fists.

She found she was breathing hard, and her body felt suddenly uncomfortable, as if the room was too hot, too stuffy. The air bore down on her, thick and suffocating. She shoved the bedsheet down her body and rubbed her hands roughly over her face. It would be so much better if the salve actually _did_ sap all of her energy. Right now, she would welcome the dreamless black of medicated sleep.

She made a frustrated sound and pushed herself upright – too quickly. Her chest protested immediately, and she let out a pained cough. After a moment, her head stopped spinning, and with a sudden thought, she shifted along the bed so that she could reach over the edge to her trunk. She opened it and dug inside. It was in here somewhere…

Finally, she extricated a thin, ratty Quidditch jersey from beneath a mess of scarves and woolly hats. It was Blaise's old one, from before they'd gotten Malfoy's dad to buy them new uniforms. When the new ones had arrived, he'd made a move to throw this one straight in the bin. He'd stopped short when she'd made a scandalized sound.

"Problem, Weasley?" he'd said. They'd been in the Fifth Year boys' dormitory a week before the first match of the season. She'd been a few months into dating Graham, so it hadn't been just the three of them lazing around in the boys' dormitory as much as usual. She'd missed it.

"At the risk of sounding like your mother, are you _really_ about to throw away _clothing_, Blaise Zabini?" she demanded, pushing herself up onto her elbows.

He looked genuinely perplexed. "It's my old Quidditch jersey. Weren't we _just_ talking about the new ones?"

"Just because we've got new ones doesn't mean the old ones are going to spontaneously combust, you know."

Blaise grinned. "I should be so lucky. Would save me this trip to the bin."

Draco snorted. Ginny shook her head wonderingly. "You spoiled little brat." She held out her arm. "Give it to me." He tossed it to her, and she shoved it into a rough approximation of a pillow-shape before flopping her head down onto it.

"Did you say you were risking sounding like his _mum_ earlier?" Draco asked. She nodded. "I think you may have been overestimating his mum."

"_Underestimating_, you wanker," Blaise replied, moving back to his own bed. "My mum doesn't keep old clothing."

"So it's out with the old, in with the new, is it?" Draco observed, smirking. "I'm beginning to sense a bit of a theme."

Ginny laughed. Blaise threw book at him.

She'd worn it to sleep for ages. It had always been thin and breathable, but constant use had worn it down to a scrap. It had annoyed Graham no end that she'd spent most nights with another bloke's name emblazoned across her back, but she hadn't really cared.

Now, she peeled off her jumper and thrust it away before pulling the jersey over her head. She exhaled with sudden relief.

The fabric was airy and cool against her skin, and the familiarity of it soothed her. She felt her heart rate slow, and she leaned back until she was flat on her back again. She closed her eyes.

Merlin, she wished she could cry.

* * *

><p>Some hours later there was a knock on the door. Before she could speak, it cracked open, throwing a sliver of light into the dim room. She pushed herself up so she was half-propped on her elbows. "Ginny?" She recognized Ron's voice. "It's me. Can I –"<p>

"Yeah," she said. It came out as a hoarse croak, and she realized her throat was dry.

The door swung wider and Ron edged in sideways, balancing a tray on one forearm. He set it down on her desk, blowing out a loud sigh. He looked at her. "Heavy," he said by way of explanation.

Despite herself, she felt her lips twitch. He caught it and smiled sheepishly. "You missed dinner," he said unnecessarily.

"Mum said she'd come get me."

"She thought we ought to let you sleep."

He reached back and retrieved a plate piled high with food – a heap of pasta, the tomato sauce still steaming, a pile of cooked carrots, and three bread rolls – and proffered it. She hadn't eaten all day, but somehow it didn't look the least bit appetizing. Her stomach roiled uncertainly. She shook her head.

"Didn't think so," Ron said, nodding sagely. "I told mum you were in danger of bleeding to death, not _starving_ to death."

Her lips twitched again. "Not to put too fine a point on it."

"Exactly." He set the plate back down, then tilted his head, considering. "Do you mind if I…?"

"Have at it," she said. "But could you hand me the –"

He grabbed the tall glass of water off the tray and handed it to her, then moved closer to help her straighten against the cushions. He was surprisingly gentle as he shoved the pillows into a reasonable shape and helped her lean her back against them. Once she was settled, he quirked his brow at the foot of her bed. She nodded and he sank down, scooting back until he was leaning against the wall. He settled the plate on his lap and began to twirl the pasta around the fork.

They sat in silence for several seconds, the only sounds the slurping of pasta and the sipping of water. After a moment, she realized that he was watching her, a kind of hesitant concern on his face. He looked away hastily when he realized she'd caught him.

Oh Merlin, he _was _treating her like glass. Just as she'd expected. She waited for him to say something pointless about Quidditch or the weather and steeled herself to tamp down her frustration.

Instead, he said, "Bit morbid, isn't it?" She looked up sharply. He nodded at her shirt, his eyes trained on the "Zabini" embroidered in small letters in the upper right. She blinked. She hadn't expected that. She didn't know what to say.

"Wearing his jersey, I mean," he said quickly. "It's –" He stopped short, and sudden panic crossed his features. "Sorry," he blurted. "Should have stuck with Quidditch," he muttered, almost to himself. "Forge told me to stick with Quidditch…."

"No," she said. "I don't want to talk about Quidditch. _Really_."

"Oh," he said uncertainly. "Well, okay. Good."

There was a beat, and then she said, "It _is_ a bit morbid, isn't it?"

He let out a relieved laugh. "Merlin, _yes_." He shifted to a more comfortable position against the wall and took a bite of pasta. "Harry never wore any of Sirius's clothes, and if anyone's morbid, it's _Harry_. Did we ever tell you about that time we found him downstairs at three in the bloody morning?"

She shook her head.

He let out a groan. "So I wake up in the middle of the night, don't know why…and Harry's not in his bed. So, of course, I panic, and I wake Neville up, which is a challenge in itself, let me tell you…and we –"

He kept up a steady flow of complaints and curse words and jokes, and as she listened, she felt the anger that had been tightly twisted in her chest all day simmering away. Her muscles relaxed by degrees, and for the first time since the base of the tower she felt…. Not happy, certainly not happy, not even content. But at least calm.

She had never appreciated Ron and his open, bumbling, insensitive humor as much as she did now.

* * *

><p><em>About a month later, July 27th<em>

"And time is now up. Please set down your quills. Mr. Ewing will come and collect your scrolls while I read the final instructions."

Ginny pushed away her parchment, shoving the regulation quill back into its inkwell and rubbing a thumb roughly over her aching palm. Mr. Quinn, the small, rotund Ministry employee at the front of the room, was reading from his handbook with great gusto. "You are not to discuss the contents of any of the examinations with anyone. Doing so will incur grave consequences of a most unnatural character. You will be…."

Ginny cringed and turned away. She'd rather not know the details. Looking around, she wondered why Quinn was bothering to project his voice. It was just her and one other student – a mousy girl wearing a woven bracelet in Ravenclaw colors that Ginny had never seen before. The girl must have been on leave for most of the year, hence her need to make up her O.W.L.S. Oh, and there was Ewing, who was collecting the exams, though she could tell by the blank look on his face that he'd heard all of this a dozen times before.

Finally, Quinn finished reading. "You are dismissed," he said somberly. He set down his handbook with great gravity, and then, obviously feeling he had completed his performance, allowed himself a sudden, wide grin. "Out the door and to your left, ladies," he said. "Congratulations!"

Ginny stood and went to the door, running through some of the questions in her mind. Hermione would want to know what they'd asked and what she'd answered – in minute detail. Ginny would have rather forgotten the whole thing as quickly as possible, but she figured she owed her. Hermione had been helping her study.

She headed out into the hall, making for the lobby and the row of Floo grates. She passed what seemed like two dozen doors on her way to the elevator. The Department of Magical Examination was next door to the Department of Examiners, which was beside the Department of Underage Magic, Records Division. Each door had its department title emblazoned across the glass in neat gold lettering.

Ahead of her, the Ravenclaw girl had pushed the elevator button. There was an almost comically loud _ding_, and the doors slid open. As she stepped inside, Ginny glanced back – and thought she caught a glimpse of a familiar figure. "Cho?" she said aloud.

"Are you coming?" She turned sharply. The Ravenclaw girl was looking at her, brow raised in an impatient expression. Ginny nodded and stepped full into the elevator. When she turned back, Cho – or whoever it was – was gone, and the doors were sliding closed. She shrugged as they began to descend. Now that she thought of it, she remembered Neville telling her that Cho had interviewed with the Department of Magical Education. She supposed she'd gotten the job.

A few minutes later, Ginny was disgorged into the Burrow living room. She tried to get her bearings, brushing soot from her clothing. She had half expected Hermione to be waiting by the grate for a full debriefing, but the house was strangely silent. She stood slowly, brow furrowed.

She considered calling out, but something about the silence – the _weight_ of it – made her hold her tongue. She realized that she couldn't remember a time when the Burrow had been this quiet. The rooms were always loud and bustling, and even at night, _someone_ was always talking or heading to the loo or snoring.

She drew her wand as she ascended the staircase, making sure to skip the steps that creaked. At the landing, she finally heard a sound: the hum of hushed whispers, coming from above. She kept going. Someone was in Ron's room.

Her heart was pounding in her chest; she could hear her blood pumping in her ears. She nudged the door open, her knuckles white around her wand –

"Ginny!"

She leaned back against the doorjamb with relief. "Merlin, Ron," she said. "I nearly hexed you!"

Her brother was on the floor, legs outstretched before him, leaning back against one arm. His other arm was at his pocket, his wand half-drawn. Hermione was sitting cross-legged on his narrow bed.

"_You _scared _us_!" Ron countered. "Why are you so bloody quiet on the stairs?! And why would you hex me? I'm _allowed_ to be in my own bloody room, aren't I?"

"We didn't hear you get back," Hermione explained more calmly. She shifted onto her knees. "How did it go? Did they ask about werewolves? I was hoping they would…."

"They did," Ginny replied, still trying to catch her breath. "But where _is_ everyone? Why are you two whispering in here? That's why I nearly hexed you…the house was empty, and…."

"Everyone else is outside," Ron said. "Hagrid just got here, and I think he needed help fixing something on his motorcycle…."

He trailed off, looking suddenly uncertain.

"Why is Hagrid here?" she prompted, voice low. "Has something…?"

Ron glanced at Hermione. He raised his eyebrows, and after a pause, Hermione nodded ever so slightly. Ginny waited, her heart beginning to pound once more. Something was wrong. Something had happened.

"A lot of people are coming tonight," Ron continued slowly.

"Why?" she whispered. Something was wrong. Something had happened. The words repeated like a mantra in her mind.

Finally, Ron turned and met her gaze. "We're going to get Harry."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> I know this chapter is a bit filler, but it was getting rather long, and I wanted to get something up since it's been a while. Please review! I'm working long hours this summer, and feedback would really brighten my days!


	40. Seven Potters

**Author's Note:** Finally! I'm so sorry for the inexcusably long wait. I hope you enjoy this chapter, which was an absolute joy to write...

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 40: Seven Potters<strong>

The wind was whistling past his ears, but Draco could hardly hear it over the pounding of his heart. The night sky over Surrey was filled with yells, screams, and the high-pitched wail of spells screeching through the air. The crazy thought flashed across his mind that something about the thickness of the cloud cover must be keeping the sound in. It was all too loud – too close.

A curse shrieked past, three inches from his left cheek. He jerked away on instinct, and his Nimbus wobbled dangerously beneath him. His stomach clenched with fear. _No_. He steeled himself, gritting his teeth and adjusting his balance on his broom. _He could not afford to be afraid._

There were more than thirty of them, and only fourteen of _them_. Thirty to fourteen, he told himself. They couldn't fail.

Just then, a jet of light shot toward him. He jerked up just in time and it careered beneath him. He heard a yell and glanced over his shoulder just as it collided with a cloaked figure and exploded in a burst of light, throwing the Death Eater's mask – identical to the one _he_ was wearing – into sharp relief. The yell of alarm turned into a scream of pain.

"Fuck," he cursed under his breath. He turned back, trying to steady himself once more. He could practically _see_ Weasley regarding him skeptically above the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch: "You look about as comfortable on a broom as a goblin riding a bucking hippogriff."

_Ginny_. _He could not afford to think about her either._

He couldn't afford to do a lot of things right now.

He had to focus. He had known – even before they had left Malfoy Manor – that getting to Potter as he left his Muggle aunt and uncle's house was going to be much, much more difficult than some of the Death Eaters were giving it credit for. He'd heard their cocky comments and raucous laughter in the foyer when they'd arrived at sundown. "_Order of the Phoenix_," Selwyn had mocked. "Awfully big name for a little, leaderless gang of Mudbloods, blood traitors, and Squibs."

"Leaderless is right," Alecto had agreed, almost crowing. "I wonder what the _Order_ is like now that the old man's –" She made a choking sound.

"Like a chicken without a head, I imagine," Dolohov replied. Several people laughed.

"Like this," Amycus nearly giggled. "Buck buck buck…buckAWWWK!"

But Draco had known that the Order wasn't stupid. They'd _never_ been stupid; that much had been obvious even from his father's heavily-edited, self-aggrandizing stories from the first war. And this time around they'd have Potter, Weasley, and Granger, who were cleverer than most, at least when it came to not dying. And even the rest of Ginny's rag-tag collection of brothers was shrewder than the likes of Alecto and Amycus, though that wasn't saying much.

The only consolation in this entire mess was that at least Ginny herself wouldn't be with them. She wouldn't be seventeen for another year, and the Order wouldn't risk sending someone who hadn't had Apparition lessons, and whose movements could be tracked, on a mission as important as this one. She was safe…for tonight, at least.

_Ginny. He could not afford to think about her._

He'd considered all of this before they'd set out. And so he'd noticed it a full ten seconds before anyone else: when the four brooms, two Thestrals, and one motorbike had taken to the air above Little Whinging, they had been carrying seven recognizable Order members and not one, but _seven_ Potters.

He was jerked back to the present by another hex hurtling past him, this time from behind. He had to _focus_. His jaw set, and he swerved to the left, glancing back over his shoulder. A broom was coming up on his tail. He recognized the bulky form of Mad-Eye Moody, one of the Potters clinging to his coat.

Draco's eyes narrowed, but before he could form a thought, Moody raised his wand again. The Auror was obviously trying to clear a path through the chaos. He yelled something Draco couldn't quite make out, and another jet of light streamed through the air. Draco twisted forward and down, winced as the handle of his Nimbus jarred against his breastbone, and felt the curse whip through his hair as it passed a needle's breadth above his skull.

He swore again, this time feeling a sudden rush of frustration and anger. He'd narrowly missed a half dozen hexes by now; he wasn't about to wait to be cursed off his broom like a sitting duck.

In one abrupt move, he jerked his broom skyward. Moody and the Potter soared past beneath him, and he dove back down, aiming his wand as he leveled off. He shouted the first hex that came into his head. The Potter turned at the sound and gave a frightened squeal. But Draco's arm jerked haphazardly on the last syllable, and the jet of light missed by a full four feet. He cursed himself. _Sloppy – _too _sloppy_. He tightened his grip and tried again.

"_Diffindo!_" he yelled. This time, he executed the wand movement in a decisive stroke and watched with grim satisfaction as the spell found its target. The Potter let out another squeal, this one higher-pitched and laced with pain. The figure fumbled at his right shoulder, where the spell had made a stinging cut. It was a deep laceration, Draco knew, but hardly dehabilitating.

Moody knew it too. The Auror turned to survey the scene. When he caught sight of Draco, he shot him a look of such unadulterated hatred that he nearly recoiled. And then Moody had twisted back, was bent low over his broom and driving forward at double speed, all the while yelling expletive-laced commands at his passenger. Over the pandemonium, Draco distinctly made out the words "Don't just sit there, you fool!" Seemingly cowed into action, the Potter swiveled slightly and got off a curse. But it was even shoddier than Draco's had been, and he barely had to shift his broom to avoid it.

That did it. Even if this Potter's obvious fear – the way he had hunched himself into as small a space as possible, clutching at Moody's cloak like a child, the way he shrieked and cringed at every loud sound – hadn't been enough to confirm that he wasn't the _real_ Potter, the feebleness of his dueling _would_ have. Draco had spent years watching Potter show off his wandwork at every possible opportunity, had even dueled him, more than once. Scarface was a falsely-modest grandstander, but he wasn't a coward, and he certainly wasn't incompetent.

At that realization, Draco pulled up short, then made a wide arc, heading back the way he'd come. He flew past another figure in a Death Eater's mask.

"Where are you going?" He recognized Rowle's voice and the thick blond hair spiking out from beneath the edge of the hood. Ever since the night of Dumbledore's death, when Draco had let the Dark Lord into his mind and revealed how Gibbon had died, Rowle had been nursing an ill-concealed grudge. Draco supposed he couldn't blame him; the Dark Lord had…punished him severely, and he'd been groveling for favor ever since.

Now, the man raised his thick arms in an insolent gesture. "Running from a fight, are you? Typical Malfoy."

Draco slowed, gave him a hard look. "It's not Potter," he said, voice low.

Rowle made a scoffing sound. "So? Mad-Eye's on the run! Why not go after him?"

Just then, a condensed ball of red light streaked into view and collided with Rowle's torso with enough force that the man's body shuddered backward. Draco turned to see Moody repositioning himself on his broom, a wry smile flashing across his face. He must have gotten off a Stunner despite the Potter pawing awkwardly at his arm.

Turning back, Draco watched impassively as Rowle's hulking body swayed, then slumped heavily and lurched sideways off his broom. "That's why," he said coldly. His words followed Rowle into the open air.

He heard a cackle of amusement and a slow clap from his right, turned to see Dolohov lift his mask slightly to give him an approving look. "You know, Malfoy," he observed delightedly, "I had my doubts about you. I believe I made that clear. But I am quite enjoying watching you stretch your wings."

"Glad to be of service, Dolohov," he replied dryly.

He knew that Rowle had spent the last month since Dumbledore's death plotting revenge. Bellatrix had too, and she was much more dangerous. Dolohov, on the other hand….

Dolohov had hated him since their run-in at the Quidditch World Cup all those years ago. Nevertheless, the man had spent the past three and a half weeks trying to insinuate himself into Draco's good graces. _"You want her dead. For what she did to your little friend_,_"_ he'd said that night. _"Bide your time, boy. Soon enough."_ He had known then that Dolohov was just trying to encourage a rift between the Malfoys and the Lestranges, and he knew that the same was true now. It was all a sick game, but then again –

He shook himself. He didn't have time for Dolohov's twisted machinations right now. He started to move off, but the other man cut in again. "It seems you have something your father always lacked."

Draco swallowed an impatient retort. "And what is that?" he said, meeting his gaze steadily.

Dolohov grinned, showing bright white teeth. "A future."

Draco tried to shake the thought of Dolohov's unnerving leer from his mind as he forced himself back into the melee. A hundred meters ahead, he could make out another Order and Potter pair weaving in and out of the fog. He bent low over his broom and sped toward them, fingers clenched tightly around his wand once more.

This time he wasn't alone. No less than five masked Death Eaters were following this pair, which Draco could now see was Professor Lupin and a significantly less cowardly Potter. This one had turned almost completely around on the broom and was firing spells in all directions.

Draco added a few of his own to the volley, but none got through, and for a moment he wondered if _this_ was the real Potter. But no – the spells were coming too fast, too messily. Whoever it was behind Lupin was hardly aiming at all. The pair's success at avoiding the incoming curses was mostly a result of Lupin's flying, which was much more skillful than Draco would have expected from someone as shabby and unassuming as Ginny's favorite professor.

_Ginny._

A loud shout sounded from behind him, followed by an even louder crack of Disapparition. Everyone turned. Through the mist, Draco saw the quickly retreating form of Mad-Eye, who now seemed to be alone on his broomstick. His Potter must have fled. _Definitely_ not _the _Potter, who wouldn't recognize a moment for rational retreat if it hexed him square in the chest.

Suddenly, a dark shape descended on the now fully-exposed Auror: the Dark Lord, robes billowing eerily behind him. Draco watched the sickly green light erupt from the Dark Lord's wand and speed inexorably through the air. It struck Moody full in the face.

There was a sharp intake of breath from everyone watching, and an anguished yell sounded from somewhere deep in the cloud cover. And then, Moody fell from his broom, and the weird thought crossed Draco's mind that he looked almost graceful. He plunged down and was quickly swallowed by the fog.

Several Death Eaters roared in triumph at the sight. They turned back to their own targets with renewed enthusiasm. The Dark Lord disappeared from view, searching for new prey, and Draco felt another stab of relief that Ginny wasn't here. It was true that the Dark Lord had some kind of strange fascination with her – for the moment, at least – and that would probably afford her some protection. But if she'd been disguised as Potter, neither he nor the other Death Eaters would have been able to distinguish her from the rest of the Order members.

A crimson-colored curse shot past him. It narrowly missed the Potter's back, and Draco turned just as the Death Eater raised his wand again. The Potter had ducked far to the left to avoid another hex, and Lupin's back was completely unprotected. Despite the mask, Draco knew the Death Eater must be smiling.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, Draco saw another dark-cloaked figure come into view. He recognized the outstretched wand as Professor Snape's. He froze. For one crazy second, he was sure – absolutely _sure_ – that the wand was pointed not at Lupin or the Potter but at the Death Eater right in front of him. But then the light erupted from Snape's wand; it skimmed past the other Death Eater and struck Lupin's Potter, who cried out and slumped down on the broom, both hands going up to clutch at the side of his head. The broom wobbled as Lupin twisted to say something to his passenger, and the other Death Eater's curse missed them by a foot.

The Death Eater whipped around, obviously angry that Snape had robbed him of an opportunity to take down the notorious Remus Lupin. Draco turned too. But the professor was gone.

Just then, another shape – this one much larger than anything else in the air – came roaring into the fray. Literally _roaring_. It was Dumbledore's pet giant, Hagrid, riding a flying motorbike, with another Potter shooting off spells from an attached sidecar.

This one was more dangerous: much less hesitant than Moody's, much less haphazard than Lupin's. He was firing a mix of curses and hexes with surprising precision, given the way his elbows were awkwardly trapped by the high walls of the sidecar and his peripheral vision partially obscured by the large owl cage balanced beside him. As Draco watched, a Death Eater – heavyset, _burly_ – took a spell in the gut and rocked back, his broom spiraling out of control. Another swerved madly to avoid him, ended up crashing into a third.

Three Death Eaters out of commission in as many seconds. _Fuck._

Draco's mind raced. It was clear the Order had paired its more experienced fighters with its less experienced ones, so the Potters had to be the new members: Weasley, Granger, the Weasley twins…. And loathe as Draco was to admit it, Potter was definitely the most skilled of _that_ group. So this one _had_ to be Potter – the _real _one.

Even as the realization crossed his mind, he watched one of the spells fly straight at the Death Eater who had nearly gotten Lupin. Draco knew on instinct that it would be a hit. He threw out a shield; it was slapdash at best, but it did the job. The curse careered off it and away at a sharp angle. The Death Eater looked at him, but then just sped away without so much as a nod of acknowledgment.

"You're welcome," Draco growled under his breath.

But before the words had even disappeared on the wind, a volley of three close-set hexes flew straight at him. He veered right and down to avoid them, his heart suddenly in his throat. He knew immediately that the angle was too steep. His body slid forward on his broom; he jerked up to right himself, felt his hood fall away.

For one panicked moment he thought he couldn't see, and then he realized that his mask had slipped and was obscuring his vision. He reached up, ripped it off, and flung it away, trying to catch his breath, knowing that at any second, Potter would hit him with a second volley.

But that volley never came, and when he managed to right himself, he saw that, inexplicably, he had an opening. Another Death Eater had hit the body of the motorbike, and with an earsplitting screech of metal on metal, the sidecar began to detach. Potter was momentarily distracted. He had to grip the edge of the car to keep from tipping out, and Draco watched him start a Levitation Charm. Draco knew that if he moved quickly, he'd be able to land a curse before Potter had time to recover. He raised his wand….

…and hesitated.

"_You have to mean it. You have to _want_ him dead."_

"_No matter. The slut can make another son easily enough."_

"…_you came face to face with Dumbledore, you raised your wand…and you killed him. That is, you _cast_ the Killing Curse. Do not worry, the _death_ itself with come in time. And with practice."_

The images came quick and vivid – Bellatrix's snarling face, Blaise's limp body, the Dark Lord's red stare – and the curse – he wasn't even sure it _had_ been the Killing Curse – died on his lips.

He blinked, and the battle raging around him came sharply back into focus. In the same second, Potter looked up. Their eyes met full on.

There was a strange moment of suspension. Potter's first expression was recognition, and Draco remembered that he'd thrown his mask away. Then Potter's brow furrowed, and Draco knew he'd understood what had happened, had realized that he'd been exposed and that Draco could have taken a shot. _Could have_, and _hadn't_.

Just as quickly, the moment ended, and Potter raised his own wand. "Expelliarmus!"

Draco got his own wand up just in time, and he felt the Disarming Charm reverberate off his shield.

"It's him!" A woman's voice rose above the noise. "It's Harry Potter!"

All around, Death Eaters turned from their battles and after a beat of realization, sped in their direction. The Disarming Charm was Potter's trademark. He might as well have thrown his name up in sparks above his head.

A veritable wall of curses and hexes surged toward the motorbike from all sides. Hagrid yelled something, the engine revved, let out a cloud of foul-smelling smoke that temporarily swallowed them up, obscuring them from view. A rainbow of lights – counterspells – jetted from within in a near-constant stream of color. By the time the smoke dissipated, the motorbike had broken through the circle of Death Eaters and was hurtling into the distance. With a flurry of angry shouts, the Death Eaters followed.

Just then, a dark shape descended on the motorbike from above. Draco knew even without fully processing the billowing cloak, the bone white hand issuing from within, the lack of a broom, that it was the Dark Lord. The other Death Eaters knew it too, and they began to slow, letting him take charge of the pursuit.

The Dark Lord raised his wand – or rather, Lucius's wand. True to Amycus and Alecto's word, the Dark Lord had commandeered the Manor as headquarters. He'd commandeered Lucius's wand too, in an attempt to avoid the effects of _Priori Incantatem_. His father had not taken the humiliation well. Draco gritted his teeth at the memory. Lucius seemed incapable of understanding that his reaction – even more than the wand itself – had been the real prize.

The Dark Lord's first curse rebounded off the side of the swerving motorbike, careened into the clouds. The force of the blow threw Potter against the inside of the sidecar with enough force that Draco was sure he must have been knocked unconscious. A quick turn of the head showed that the Dark Lord was grinning. His pale hand swiveled in the beginnings of a second strike. But the movement was cut short by something Draco couldn't understand.

A spurt of golden light burst from Potter's wand. It covered the distance between him and the Dark Lord in a blazing arc, and Draco _heard _the sound of cracking wood as his father's wand tried and failed to absorb it – whatever it was. But Potter hadn't even lifted his hand, was still trying to recover from his collision with the sidecar. The wand had acted on its own.

The Dark Lord let out a howl of fury and threw the useless stick aside. He grabbed a wand from the Death Eater closest to him and flew forward once more, moving now with a reckless, almost desperate haste. A moment later, Draco knew why.

He didn't know how far they'd traveled, but he saw the air shimmer slightly as the motorbike crossed an invisible barrier. And he saw Potter raise his head slightly, saw his green eyes meet the Dark Lord's crimson ones just as the motorbike plummeted, plunging downward into the safety of its shielded destination.

Potter was safe.

* * *

><p>Ginny's vision was swimming, the hands of the family clock running together into a single swaying, silver mass pointed at "MORTAL PERIL." Her dad, Bill, Fleur Delacour, Forge, Ron, Hermione, Professor Lupin…. They were all out there, somewhere in the night sky over Surrey, trying to get Harry safely away from his aunt and uncle's house.<p>

Ron and Hermione had explained the plan. It had been a good one – Ginny had been vaguely surprised that someone as absurd as Mundungus Fletcher had come up with it – and if all had gone well, it shouldn't have taken any of the pairs more than half an hour to get to the Burrow. But both the grate and the field outside were quiet. Under the circumstances, the stillness was strangely morbid. It reminded her of death.

She forced herself to look away from the clock, but she couldn't focus properly on anything else either, and eventually she let her head fall forward onto her arms. The smell of the table rose up to meet her: a comforting woodiness tinged with the barest hint of garlic.

If she'd learned anything in the last, interminable hour, it was that she had a very vivid imagination and absolutely no control over what it conjured up. She'd thought of each of her brothers, maimed, killed, maimed _and_ killed. She'd thought of her dad trading curses with a grinning Antonin Dolohov, and then with a cackling Bellatrix Lestrange. She'd thought of Harry's face immersed in sickly green light.

And _that _had led her to think, inevitably, of Blaise…and of Draco. For the past three and a half weeks, she'd been doing her best _not_ to think about Draco. Remembering what he'd done – how he'd let the Death Eaters into the castle, betraying her and _killing_ Blaise – made a stinging mix of pain and bitterness and anger rise in her throat in a sour bile.

But it was useless. She couldn't _stop_ thinking about Blaise – she dreamed about his death almost every night – and she'd never appreciated until now how attached at the hip the three of them had been. She couldn't think about Blaise _without_ thinking about Draco. So now she was left picturing _him_ over Surrey too. She imagined his gray eyes sparkling behind a Death Eater's mask, then going suddenly dark as he was hit by a Killing Curse. Sometimes it one of her brothers who'd cast it. Most often it was Harry.

With a frustrated sound, she pushed her chair bodily backward, wincing when it made a painful scraping sound. She stood, started when she found her mum standing across from her. Her nerves were raw as an open wound. "Ginny, dear?" Molly was leaning slightly against the table to offset the full laundry basket balanced expertly against one cocked hip. She'd set a glass of water on the table next to Ginny's elbow. "Have a little water. And then help with the folding, will you?" she said gently.

Ginny swallowed thickly – she hadn't realized how dry her throat was – and after a moment, she dutifully took a few sips and followed her mum to the sofa. Molly had laid the basket on the middle cushion and was in the process of extracting one of Ron's rattier pairs of trousers. She caught Ginny's surprised look.

"Sometimes I like to do it by hand," she explained. "It can be quite calming."

Ginny sank down and pulled out a shirt. One of the twins', by the char marks and blotches of color that no stain remover, magic or Muggle, could eradicate. It was almost enough to make her smile.

"Which," her mum continued, almost as if she was talking about the weather, "I imagine we could _both_ use at the moment."

The comment, made so nonchalantly, eased some of the tension in the room, and Ginny exhaled, letting out a mirthless laugh. "Yeah, _really_." After a moment, she set her jaw and added, "I wish I could have gone."

She didn't know why she to say it, or why she had to say it so challengingly. She already knew how her mum would respond: she'd launch into a speech about how she wasn't seventeen yet, how she could still be traced, how they needed pairs and the numbers didn't work out. Ron and Hermione had already given her the whole catalog when they'd told her about the plan. All of the reasons were completely sound, but she hated them all the same. She felt restless and useless and frustrated, and at the moment, goading her mum into an argument didn't seem like the worst idea in the world.

"Me too, dear," Molly said. Ginny's head jerked up in surprise. The angry retort she'd been preparing died in her throat. Her mum was still speaking, not looking up as she folded a jumper into a neat rectangle with practiced efficiency. "Unlike going out to fight," she said, "waiting at home is one of the few things that doesn't get any easier the more you do it."

"Then why didn't you?" Ginny asked. "Go, I mean." The question _could_ have sounded like an accusation, but the words came out softly, hoarsely.

"Because," Molly replied. voice calm, "after we had Bill, your dad and I agreed that one of us would always stay home. We knew the Order needed us, but we also knew that if something went wrong on the mission, our children would need us more."

Ginny didn't know what to say to that. After a second of silence, her mum looked up and met her gaze, eyes sparkling with sudden humor. "You don't think I would hang up my wand for anything less, do you?" she said lightly. "I put years of effort into my wandwork. I could beat your dad in a duel in five seconds flat." She paused thoughtfully, then shrugged. "Still can."

Ginny let out a guffaw of laughter, and her mum grinned.

Just then, there was a loud whooshing sound from outside and they both turned sharply, the smiles dropping from their faces. Ginny saw her mum blanch and realized that Molly's calm demeanor had been almost entirely show. She'd been just as on edge as Ginny, just as terrified.

Ginny was off the sofa and out the front door so quickly that the pair of socks she'd been folding flew from her lap. There were two shapes sprawled in the front yard. By the bright glow of the moonlight, she could make out the smaller figure's ratty trainers, his torn clothing, his bruised and battered face, his messy head of jet black hair. She would have known it was the real Harry even if it wasn't obvious that the other figure was Hagrid. She'd have known the real Harry just by the dazedly awkward way he clambered to his feet, which jarred so sharply with the alertness in his green gaze.

Her legs moved beneath her of their own accord. "Careful, Ginny! He's just had his ribs healed – coupla limbs and a tooth too," Hagrid called out in half-amused warning. But before she could even process the words, she found she'd crossed the lawn at a half-run and launched herself into Harry's arms.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>The long lack of writing was due to lots of boring stuff: schoolwork, health problems, various other real-life issues... But as I've promised before, this story will NOT be abandoned. It's taken on a life of its own at this point, and I have far too much fun writing it. Feedback would be much appreciated, so if you're still reading after all this time, please review! (And thanks for the where-the-heck-are-you nudges over the past 7 months!)


	41. The Boy Who Lived

**Author's Note:** Holy heck, this is a loooong one. Please read slowly - this took me forever to write, so don't race through it too quickly! Enjoy!

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 41: The Boy Who Lived<strong>

_Four days later, July 31st_

_Harry stiffened with surprise as her body collided with his. But in the next instant, he recognized her, and some of the tension went out of him. His shoulders slumped forward, and his arms tightened around her torso, lifting her several inches off the Burrow lawn._

_Her relief made her tongue-tied, and she fumbled for something to say. Finally, she blurted out, "How was your summer?"_

_It was far too casual a remark for such a grave situation, and he snorted. "Better now," he replied, close to her ear. But then, quite suddenly, his voice became deathly serious. "They knew," he said, and it was almost as if he was talking to himself. Her feet found the grass. "Somehow, they knew."_

_She could read what he meant in the way his shoulders had tensed once more into a taut, angry line. The Death Eaters had known about the Order's plan, and they'd known it well enough to be lying in wait for Harry and his rescuers when they took to the air over his aunt and uncle's house. "Knew what?" she asked anyway._

"_Knew how to get into the castle." Her head snapped up in shock, and she took an involuntary step back. Standing right in front of her, where Harry had been a split second before, was Blaise, his arms still bent from where she'd wrenched herself out of his embrace. _

_His browline registered a flicker of confusion before his lips tilted into their usual careless grin. "No need to be rude, Weasley," he said teasingly. "I know I'm not Malfoy, but I'm hardly the Giant Squid."_

"_Blaise – what are you doing here?"_

_His expression turned grim at that. "I'm taking you back to the Common Room. There'll be Death Eaters roaming the castle any minute. Malfoy was given a task, months ago…to let his aunt and…others into the school. That's what he's been doing all this time…why he's been acting like such an arse…."_

_She shook herself, trying to get her mind around what he'd just said. She'd been standing in the front yard of the Burrow just moments ago, she was sure of that, but now she was in a corridor at school. There was a staircase to her right, looping up into darkness. It seemed familiar. She tried to place it, but found that her thoughts felt thick as sludge. Where was Harry? That thought seemed familiar too, as if she'd had it before, in this exact same spot. Somewhere, sometime…._

_She couldn't think. _Fuck, _why couldn't she think? She tried to suck in a gulp of air, but suddenly, all she could process was a heavy panic building steadily in her chest, filling her up by degrees. There was something she had to tell Blaise, something she had to _warn_ him about, but she couldn't seem to remember. She tried to inhale again, felt tears come to her eyes with the effort of it. She shut them, felt herself sway where she stood._

_When she opened them again, she was sitting on the ground somehow, her back leaning against the stone wall, and Blaise was looming over her. "_Ginny!_ Ginny – Ginny, don't you fucking dare…."_

_Something about the expression on his face, so near her own, something about those words…everything came to her in a horrible rush. Suddenly she knew where they were, knew what was going to happen next, knew what was going to happen to _him_._

_As if on cue, she heard a clamoring on the stairs above, and then Draco's aunt appeared before them, looming over them like a bird of prey. This time, Bellatrix didn't even give Blaise a chance to speak. Her mouth was already twisted in a wide grin. Her wand was already raised. The six syllables were already leaving her lips._

"_BLAISE," Ginny _felt_ herself scream. "RUN!" But she choked on the words. No sound came out. Blaise didn't hear her. And so she watched him hear the curse instead. She watched him turn to face a wall of green light. And an instant later, she watched him die._

Ginny woke with a start. Her body was bathed in sweat, her sheet pushed to the base of the bed and tangled around her ankles. She twisted upright, kicked the sheet frantically away, and fell back, trying to slow her pounding heartbeat. It was hot – _too_ hot – but she knew it wasn't the room. The clock on the wall showed it was a little past midnight.

She sat upright, ran her hands roughly over her face, as if she could physically wipe out the images dancing across the hollows of her eyelids. She let out a soft, frustrated groan and stood. She needed air. On previous nights, she'd just thrown open the windows. But now Hermione was sleeping soundly on a camp bed a few feet away, buried beneath a pile of blankets. And anyway, a little square of fresh air wouldn't be enough. The room felt claustrophobic, the four walls bearing down on her. _"Ginny, don't you fucking dare…."_

She stood abruptly and went to the door. Hermione made a sound, and Ginny turned at the threshold to see the other girl shift, lips curving into a troubled frown. Not sleeping so soundly after all. She felt a stab of sympathy. Ever since Harry's rescue, the trio had been planning something in earnest. They'd spent hours holed up in Ron's room, the low, unintelligible rumble of their voices issuing from within. Ron had been uncharacteristically quiet and pensive, and Hermione was obviously anxious about it too, whatever it was.

Her mum had done everything in her power to get it out of them, but to no avail. They'd kept the whole weight of it to themselves. Ginny's sympathy hardened into determination. She _had _to help them, which meant she had to convince them to let her.

The thought of going back to school and being kept on the outside again, being kept in the dark…. _"Malfoy was given a task, months ago. That's what he's been doing all this time…why he's been acting like such an arse…."_

She turned on her heel and ducked out of the room, pulling the door shut behind her. It clicked too loudly, and she flinched, hoping she hadn't woken Hermione. But there was no sound from within, and after the briefest of pauses, she headed down the stairs and into the deserted kitchen. Blaise's words were still ringing in her ears. _"That's what he's been doing all this time…."_

She pushed ham-handedly at the faucet, cupped her hands, and splashed cold water over her face. Still hunched over the sink bowl, she exhaled with relief, feeling her mind clearing as her skin cooled. She rubbed a hand over her eyes, clearing droplets from her lashes, and let out another long breath. She ran a damp palm across the back of her neck, then began to straighten.

"Ginny?"

She started and whirled. Standing just in view on the staircase, a few steps above ground level, was Harry.

"Merlin, Harry, you scared me!" she said. "Sorry," she added, reaching back to shut off the faucet. "Did I wake…." She trailed off, suddenly noticing that Harry definitely did not look like someone who had been rudely awakened in the small hours of the morning. There were deep, dark circles beneath his eyes, but they were bright and alert. And his right hand was clenched tightly around his wand, his arm held a few inches from his body as if he was ready to use it at a moment's notice. He'd obviously been lying upstairs in Ron's room, wide awake, and when he'd heard noise from below, he'd assumed the worst – that Death Eaters had somehow breached the wards surrounding the Burrow.

She hadn't slept properly in ages, and she realized now that Harry hadn't either.

She felt a sudden rush of affection for him. She and Harry had been through a lot of the same things – not always together, the way she and Draco and Blaise had been through things _together_ – but the same things nonetheless. They'd both had Tom inside their heads, and they'd both lost people they loved – his parents and Sirius, Ced…. And now Blaise….

She stopped herself short, swallowing. _And_ – she thought determinedly – they seemed to react to those things in the same way, most of the time. Somehow, that allowed them to understand each other.

When she focused on him again, Harry had relaxed. The line of his shoulders had softened, and his lips were tilted into a wry smile. "I seem to have a habit of doing that, don't I?" he said. "Scaring you?"

She remembered the ride on the Hogwarts Express last summer, when everything had been so absolutely _shite_ between her and Draco and Blaise, and she'd gone into an empty carriage – only to be scared nearly out of her skin by Harry materializing from beneath his Invisibility Cloak. She grinned at the memory. "At least there's no Invisibility Cloak this time."

His smile widened at that. "And here I thought that cloak was a…what was it…a real crutch? I seem to remember _someone _saying something about my being terrible at sneaking around without it?" He arched an eyebrow at her.

She laughed. _That_ had happened at Slughorn's Christmas party. "Touche, Potter," she conceded. "I stand corrected. You don't need the cloak to be incredibly unnerving."

"Thank you," he quipped. "That's all I wanted to hear."

Just then, there was a creaking noise from above, and they both tensed. But the creaking was followed by the distinct sounds of someone treading the floorboards toward the loo, then the loo door opening and shutting. Ginny grimaced at the loudness of the sounds, which seemed to be amplified in the stillness of the Burrow. If they could hear all that, she was surprised that the sound of _them_ talking and laughing hadn't woken the whole house.

She turned back to find Harry wincing too. She raised her eyebrows in the direction of the back door, and he nodded. Quietly, they crossed the kitchen. She jarred her hip on the edge of the table and swore under her breath. He made an ostentatious shushing noise, shooting her a look of mock disapproval. She had to stifle a snort as they pulled on their shoes and slipped out into the cool summer night.

They made their way slowly across the lawn, making casual comments about her family and the Burrow and the weather. He didn't mention the fact that he'd come upon her breathing hard and splashing cold water on her face at one in the morning, and _she_ didn't mention that he'd obviously overreacted to the smallest nighttime sound. She had a feeling that he appreciated their tacit understanding as much as she did.

They ambled along the back of the house and then headed in the direction of her dad's shed. The hair around her face was still damp, and a few strands were sticking to her cheeks. She tucked them behind her ears as they walked.

Finally, they came up to the shed. In the moonlight, it was just a slightly darker shape against the darkness of the wooded area beyond. Harry pushed open the rickety door – just a few long slats held together by two lengthwise planks – and gestured with one arm. "After you," he said solemnly.

She grinned. "And here _I _thought chivalry was dead."

He grinned back and followed her inside. "I try. _Lumos_," he added. The end of his wand flickered to life, illuminating them in a soft glow.

She began to meander slowly around the small space, picking up various plugs from her dad's collection and setting them down again. "Merlin," she murmured wonderingly. "I haven't been in here since I was…I can't even remember."

"Same here," he replied. "Not in ages." She wondered when – and why – he'd been in here in the first place, but she didn't ask. After all, he'd been at the Burrow a lot more than she had over the past few years.

"Mum would have a heart attack if she saw the state of this place," she said, running her hand absentmindedly over a particularly chaotic tangle of wires. Her fingers stirred up a large cloud of dust, and she waved her hands in an attempt to disperse it. Beside her, Harry let out a cough. "Or an _asthma _attack," she amended. "You have to appreciate her foresight…banning him from tinkering with all this stuff in the house."

"She knew it would end up looking like a bomb went off?"

"Bomb?"

He laughed. "Nevermind."

She shook her head. "_Muggle_," she said teasingly. "Actually, to be honest," she continued. "I think it was more that she thought one of these –" She held up a particularly large plug. " – might burn the house down."

"I'm pretty sure you don't have to worry about that when they aren't plugged in," he said amusedly. He caught her look and snorted. "I know, I know…. _muggle._" She grinned appreciatively.

By now, they'd looped the whole shed, so she sank down, pushing a stack of dusty sandbags to one side. She leaned back against the wall and stretched her legs out. They spanned the short space between the side of the shed and the nearest long worktable so that her left trainer knocked up against the table leg. Harry settled beside her, _his _legs extending beneath the table by nearly a foot. He set his wand down between them so they were ensconsced in its small sphere of light.

She turned toward him and had just opened her mouth to speak when she had a sudden thought. She straightened so quickly her neck cracked. "Merlin!" she exclaimed. "It's your _birthday_, isn't it?"

He glanced at his wrist before realizing he wasn't wearing a watch. "Is it? What time is it?"

"Oh, no, you don't," she said indignantly, folding her arms across her chest and raising an eyebrow at him skeptically. "You _know_ it's past midnight. You lit your wand just now! You _knew_ it wouldn't be underage magic!"

He laughed. "Nothing gets past you, does it?"

She made a huffing sound. "Always trying to avoid being the center of attention," she muttered disgustedly, "even on your own seventeenth." She shook her head. "You know, your ego has proven surprisingly immune to swelling over the years."

"Is that a compliment, Weasley?"

"A backhanded one," she returned cheekily. "At best." A moment later, she settled back against the wall and smiled. "So," she continued. "How does it feel to be a fully-grown adult?"

"Powerful," he deadpanned. "Influential. Authoratative, even."

She snorted. "In your dreams, Potter." As she spoke, she reached down and began absentmindedly tracing a path with her forefinger in the dust accumulated on the shed floor. A few seconds later, she'd finished a rough sketch.

"Is that a cake?" Harry asked, leaning closer to get a better look.

"Mhm," she confirmed. "Best we can do at the moment, unfortunately. Help me with the candles, will you?"

Their elbows knocked against each other as they traced out the seventeen lines. As he completed the last one, he made a soft, amused sound. She met his eyes, eyebrows raised.

"Oh, nothing," he said off-handedly. "I just remembered…I did this the night I turned eleven. On the floor of a hut in the middle of the ocean."

"A hut," she repeated flatly. "In the middle of the ocean."

He laughed again. "My aunt and uncle _hated_ the idea of my being a wizard, so when I got my Hogwarts letter, they threw it out. But the letters kept coming – seriously, _hundreds_ of them – until finally my uncle packed us off to this tiny little hut – in the middle of the ocean. Thought it'd keep the owls from finding us. But," he added with a grin, "he didn't count on Hagrid breaking the door down."

Ginny's eyes were wide. "How have I never heard this story? Keeping all the good anecdotes to yourself, Potter?"

"Oh, if you think it's good _now_, wait until I get to my cousin and the pig's tail."

* * *

><p>Draco leaned back in his chair and took a sip from his wine glass, listening intently to his father's conversation with Perseus Parkinson but keeping his gaze studiously averted.<p>

"…an exceedingly delicate matter," Parkinson was saying. "You of all people, Lucius, must understand the need for circumspection on this issue. For caution. For prudence. _And_," he added after a beat, "for discretion." Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Parkinson was almost unbearably irritating. The man never contented himself with a single word when he could add a half dozen synonyms. Legend had it that his ancestor and namesake – who'd had a brief tenure as Minister of Magic several centuries ago – had been a longwinded moron. Hereditary, then, Draco thought.

"_Me_ of all people, Perseus?" his father answered archly.

Draco pursed his lips. He understood his father's annoyance, of course, but that was the wrong tack. Parkinson's import/export business had been doing better of late – much better than five years ago, at least, when Ginny had made that first dig to Pansy about the dragon dung debacle – and the Dark Lord had ordered them to "convince" Parkinson to raise prices in the constituencies of Ministers still loyal to Scrimgeour. And if they were going to accomplish that task within the next _decade_, Parkinson couldn't be allowed to bound down every conversational rabbit hole. He couldn't get to a point if it handed him a map and sent up sparks. And there was no room for delicacy either. The man was as unsubtle – and as willfully dense – as they came. No, Parkinson needed to be _pushed_.

"Now, now, don't be cross, Lucius," Parkinson was saying now, reaching awkwardly across the width of the table to pat his father's hand. Lucius drew it back, distaste crossing his expression, but Parkinson continued unperturbed. "I only mean that in times past—Oh, that phrase makes things seem too _dated_, don't you agree? Including us!" He barked out a laugh. "Let's say, rather, several years ago, after that unfortunate incident that catapulted the Potter boy onto the world stage, if you will –"

"Can I see it, Draco?"

Draco pursed his lips, turning reluctantly to Pansy, who was sitting at his right. She was looking up at him with a doe-eyed expression that he hadn't seen on her face in years. His gaze skimmed down to her low cut blouse, then to her tight skirt, which was sliding up her thigh. And her mum had practically shoved them into adjoining seats when they'd all sat down for dinner.

He supposed it was as good an indication as any that the Malfoys were on the rise once more. And this time, it was all _his_ doing, not his father's. The thought gave Draco a grim sort of satisfaction.

"Would that be all right?" Pansy asked again. She shifted seductively in her seat, leaning forward just enough so that he could see down her top, and Draco felt a surprising stab of desire at the base of his stomach. He frowned, tamping it down.

Without speaking, he set down his wine glass and unbuttoned the cuff of his left sleeve. A few quick rolls revealed the pale skin of his outer forearm.

He hesitated.

The ceremony had been three nights ago, just after the failed attempt on Potter's life over Little Whinging. It had happened in this very room. They'd removed the dining table, and dozens of Death Eaters – more than Draco had ever seen outside of missions – had lined the room, fully shrouded in their black robes and skeleton masks. The Dark Lord had waited, motionless, at the end of the hall, and as Draco had walked slowly toward him, he had felt the weight of the Death Eaters' eyes on him. He'd felt his ancestors' eyes too, surveying him solemnly from the portraits lining the walls. When he finally reached the front of the room, the Dark Lord had said a few words, then loomed over him, wand poised as he extended his bare arm. Draco remembered having the completely inappropriate thought, just as the Dark Lord began to whisper the spell that would initiate him into the Death Eaters' ranks, that Ginny would have found the whole thing ridiculous. _Silly_, she would have said. _Theatrical._

_Well_, he thought now, _she_ hadn't been there. _She _hadn't seen the Dark Lord's bone-white face so close to her own, felt the anticipation of the spectators bearing down on her like a physical thing. Hadn't experienced the burning as the spell and symbol twisted deep into her arm. He grit his teeth at the memory. For just an instant, the pain had been so intense that he'd been sure his skin was blackening, peeling away from the bone, and he hadn't dared look. He found that he didn't want to look at the Mark, even now.

The feeling of Pansy's cool hand on his arm jolted him from his thoughts. Her fingers lightly encircled his wrist, and then she turned it, slowly, to expose his inner forearm. The black skull leered up at them, mouth agape, the snake winding gruesomely from between its teeth.

Pansy exhaled and met his gaze, eyes shining. "Did it hurt?" she asked, her voice a breathy whisper.

He pulled his sleeve back down, sliding the button back into place.

"Yes," he said shortly, and couldn't help feeling a bit gratified when she gave a half-sympathetic, half-impressed shiver.

"_Enough, Perseus!"_ Draco turned sharply. His father had finally snapped and was sitting forward in his chair, jaw twitching. "I will not sit here and be insulted –"

"I was not attempting to insult you, Lucius!" Parkinson cut in. He was clearly agitated. All the forced humor had gone out of him, and his large, round face was beginning to flush. "But since we are speaking of insults, I must say that I find this entire…set-up, nay ruse, nay _trap_…to be _very_ insulting. Inviting me here under the pretext of a lovely, delectable dinner, when all you want is to control my prices! And it's not even _you_ who wants to control them, but the Dark Lord! You insult my intelligence, Lucius, you really do, with all of your underhanded scheming!"

Lucius opened his mouth, but Draco spoke first. Lately, he'd been spending an inordinate amount of time cleaning up after his father lost his cool. Azkaban had frayed Lucius's sense of self-importance, and Draco now realized that that had been the only thing behind all of the old self-assurance.

"Then let us be frank," Draco said now, keeping his voice level.

Everyone at the table turned to him. Even his mother and Mrs. Parkinson, who had paused their banal conversation when Lucius's voice had risen.

"The Dark Lord wishes you to raise your prices in a number of constituencies," Draco continued. He turned to his father, who after a beat, grudgingly produced a sheet of parchment from his robes and slid it across the table. Parkinson looked from Draco to the parchment and back again, blinking. "The Ministers of those constituencies have proven…uncooperative. The Dark Lord did indeed task us with _persuading_ –" he placed the lightest touch of emphasis on the word – "you to comply with his wishes. But should you refuse, I must tell you that the Dark Lord has other, more direct means of persuasion." Draco paused, relishing Parkinson's terrified expression despite himself. "_Franker_ means, if you will."

"But –" Parkinson stammered. He swallowed. "The Ministry…surely you appreciate that I must be cautious lest Scrimgeour…."

"Scrimgeour's administration will fall within weeks," Lucius scoffed.

"Days," Draco said flatly, not taking his eyes from Parkinson's.

There was a long silence. And then, finally, Parkinson reached out with a shaking hand and pulled the parchment toward him. He skimmed the list, swallowed again, then folded and pocketed it. "If you would be so kind," he said at length, "please tell the Dark Lord that no…franker means will be necessary. I would be honored to, as you say, comply with his wishes."

"Good," said Lucius, his face breaking into a wide smile. "Then I think our business is at an end." He pushed back his chair. They all did the same, and Draco straightened his suit jacket across his shoulders as their small group made its way to the front door.

As they said cursory goodbyes, Draco noted that Parkinson avoided his gaze, only shooting him a brief, anxious glance as they shook hands. The observation was strangely unsettling. No one had ever been afraid of him before.

Even after their parents had moved away, Pansy lingered on the doorstep. "When will I see you again?" she asked.

"At school, I imagine," Draco said carelessly.

She pouted. Merlin, she was slathering this doe-eyed, pouting ingenue thing on rather thick, wasn't she? Unbidden, the thought crossed his mind that Ginny would never stoop so low.

_Ginny_, who hadn't replied to any of his letters, nor made any attempt to contact him, in weeks. Who hadn't even bothered to let him know she was alive after Blaise had died. His jaw set. She'd cut him out completely, and there wasn't a doubt in his mind that Saint Potter had jumped at the opportunity to fill the void. They'd probably been doing Merlin knows what all summer. He gripped the doorframe hard against the sudden onslaught of images. Come to think of it, he thought nastily, maybe Ginny _would_ stoop so low. After all, the whole damsel-in-distress act would undoubtedly play right into Potter's fucking hero complex.

With that thought looming large, he met Pansy's eyes. "Maybe sooner than that," he said.

Her lips – stained deep red – tilted into a smile. "Owl me, then," she said, before turning on one impossibly high heel and following her parents out into the night.

"Come, Draco," his father said from behind him. "The Dark Lord has summoned us to _my_ –" – he couldn't hide the bitter emphasis on the word – "– study. And I do not think," he added, "that he will find Miss Parkinson's…limited charms to be a satisfactory excuse for tardiness."

Draco was still working hard to rein in his imagination. He'd never been to the ramshackle "Burrow" that the Weasleys called a house, but he was finding he had no trouble envisioning Ginny and Scarhead intertwined in various generic settings.

He forced his mind to Pansy's cherry smile, to her admiring eyes, her revealing clothing. Which led inevitably to thoughts of everything they'd done – and _not_ done – during Fourth Year.

Pansy's charms were many things, he thought dryly, but they certainly weren't limited.

* * *

><p>The Dark Lord was seated behind his father's desk, his eyes shut and his long, pale fingers delicately steepled beneath his chin. Several others were arrayed around the room; in a quick sweep of the room, Draco recognized Rodolphus, Dolohov, Amycus, Alecto, Wormtail, Thicknesse….<p>

Bellatrix was speaking from the armchair directly before the desk. The Dark Lord cut her short as they entered. "Ah, Lucius, Draco…," he said, not opening his eyes. Draco wondered how good his hearing was. "At last. I trust your supper with Perseus was fruitful?"

"Yes, my Lord," his father replied. "He has agreed to your terms. He would be _honored_." There was a titter of approval from the surrounding Death Eaters.

"Good," the Dark Lord said.

His father warmed to even that slight praise. "I _did_ have to bring some pressure to bear, but he capitulated in the end."

The crimson eyes flicked open and fixed on Lucius's face, and Draco knew that whatever his father said in an attempt to take credit for tonight's success, his memories would reveal the whole story. True to form, after a brief moment, the Dark Lord's eyes shifted to Draco. The hairless head inclined in approval. Draco suppressed a shiver.

"Well, Lucius, while you were busy bringing your particular brand of _pressure_ to bear," the Dark Lord said, somehow managing to infuse the words with a cutting amount of scorn, "the rest of us were discussing the Ministry." Dolohov snorted. His father flushed. "Thicknesse has been fully…prepared to step into Scrimgeour's shoes. Is that not true, Yaxley?"

"Yes, my Lord." Yaxley nodded, slicking back a lock of blonde, oiled hair that had escaped his ponytail. "Thicknesse is responding well to the Imperius. He will do very well indeed."

"Good. I have every confidence that the Department of Magical Law Enforcement will flourish under your firm hand, Yaxley."

"You flatter me, my Lord," Yaxley replied.

"And that woman…?"

"Umbridge, my Lord," Bellatrix supplied. "Dolores Umbridge."

"Her name is so very forgettable." The Dark Lord made an impatient gesture. "Well?"

"She is eager to do her part," Bellatrix answered.

"Then all that remains," the Dark Lord said, "is to finalize our plans for the school." Draco's mouth was suddenly dry. Plans for the school?

"Hogwarts fell very, very far during Dumbledore's tenure," the Dark Lord was saying. "Though," he added, his lips twisting into an amused smile, "perhaps not quite so literally as the old man himself." The assembled Death Eaters guffawed at that. Draco managed a tight smile. The memory of Dumbledore's prone body disappearing over the edge of the Astronomy Tower was still vivid, _raw_. Some nights, it haunted his dreams. _Severus, please…._

"Severus will lead our reformation," the Dark Lord continued when the laughter had subsided.

All of the heads in the room turned toward the lone window. Snape was silhouetted against it, his hands folded behind his back, his face half bathed in shadow. Draco hadn't noticed him before. "My Lord honors me too much," the professor said. Draco thought he heard the barest hint of sarcasm in the words, but if it was, the Dark Lord didn't seem to notice.

"The old teachers will remain for now," the Dark Lord continued. "They will be given a chance to prove their loyalty. We will, however, require a new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, now that Severus has been elevated. Amycus?"

Amycus Carrow stepped forward, surprise evident on his bloated face. "My Lord –," he stammered. "Thank you! I –"

The Dark Lord raised his hand for silence. Amycus retreated back to his place, beaming. "There is also the matter of…Muggle Studies…." His upper lip curled back in distaste. "As you know, Charity Burbage was recently…relieved." Another titter of laughter at that. Draco shut his eyes against an unexpected roil of nausea. He saw Professor Burbage's body arched painfully above the dining table, a small trickle of blood sliding down her chin. _Nagini, dinner…._

"_Alecto_ will serve as her replacement. The two of you will also serve as Deputy Headmasters. Minerva McGonagall was Dumbledore's pet. She cannot remain in a position of any consequence."

A chill went down Draco's spine. _Amycus and Alecto – _professors and Deputy Headmasters? He remembered the delight with which they had tortured the Azkaban guard to death in the foyer.

"Together," the Dark Lord said, turning to Snape and the Carrows in turn, "you will endeavor to undo the damage that has been done to all of those precious Pureblood minds. You will help them to recognize the power of their heritage. They have been…misguided. You will bring them into the fold. It should not be difficult. Their youth will make them pliable."

"And if it does not?" Alecto asked, and Draco heard the relish in her voice.

"If it does not, _you_ will make them pliable. You and your brother excel at that, do you not?"

"Yes," Alecto , giving a little shiver of pleasure. Draco's nails dug into his palms.

The Dark Lord caught the movement. "Is this plan not to your liking, Draco?" he said, arching an eyebrow.

Draco swallowed. "Of course it is, my Lord," he managed. He knew the Dark Lord was not convinced, but he seemed more amused than angry. A corner of his mouth quirked upward.

"Good," he said. "After all, it would not do for our new Head Boy to nurture reservations." The words held only the slightest edge of a threat.

"Indeed," Draco murmured.

The Dark Lord turned back to the Carrows, but Draco couldn't focus on what he was saying. His mind was on Ginny. _Their youth will make them pliable_, the Dark Lord had said. There was no chance of that with Ginny, he knew. None whatsoever. Ginny hadn't been pliable at eleven, and she wouldn't be pliable at sixteen. _Then _you_ will make them pliable._ He could imagine all too clearly how the Carrows would accomplish _that_.

_How was I to know he couldn't take the slightest _Cruciatus_, anyway? I dragged him all this way. What a fucking waste._ Blood and a corpse on cool tiles.

He was so lost in his own gruesome imaginings that he didn't realize the Dark Lord had dismissed them until his father gripped him by the shoulder and dragged him toward the door. "Come, Draco," he hissed. Together, they followed the other Death Eaters out of the room.

Draco's mind was still racing. But maybe Ginny would be safe, or at least relatively so. The Dark Lord wanted her alive and unharmed. He had made that clear in the foyer of the manor the night Dumbledore had died. It was not a lesson any of them was likely to forget. Indeed, he reflected, the Dark Lord had been more angry at Ginny's near-death than at Blaise's _actual_ death. He had some kind of strange, inexplicable fascination with her. Draco thought it must have to do with Second Year and that damned chamber and that damned diary.

Some part of the Dark Lord had been some part of Ginny. And _that_ made the Dark Lord…sentimental.

_But no_, he thought, he couldn't depend on that. Amycus and Alecto were unpredictable in their sadism. He had to be sure. And there was only one way to be sure. He pulled himself from his father's grasp. Without a word, he turned away from the others and crossed the dining hall toward the kitchen.

He found Ares on his usual feeding post, wide awake. A glance at the clock showed it was nearly one in the morning. Draco hadn't realized how late it was. The supper with the Parkinsons had gone on far longer than he had anticipated. He located a scrap of parchment and a quill and scrawled out – _yet another_ – note. He knew this one would go unanswered too. But he had to try. Ginny didn't know what the Carrows were capable of.

_Gin – _he started. He paused. Gin seemed too familiar somehow, after everything that had happened. The realization sent a painful stab through his chest. He shook it off and, ripping the page viciously in half, started again.

_Weasley –_

_Do not return to school. Make some excuse. The Dark Lord has appointed Snape Headmaster and Amycus and Alecto Deputy Headmasters and professors. The Carrows enjoy pain, and they would enjoy yours all the more._

He paused again. How could he impress upon her the importance of it? He knew an account of what had happened to the guard would be useless. Ginny Weasley didn't scare easily. Indeed, she was more likely to take that as a challenge.

_Please_, he wrote finally._ For me._

_Malfoy_

He folded the letter and was about to hand it over to Ares when he had a thought. He took the discarded half sheet, ripped it once more to get a small, clean quarter and wrote a second note. This one was harder. But it might work if the other did not.

"To Ginny," he instructed the owl. "And Potter. They should be together," he added, hearing the bitterness in his voice at that. With a few strong flaps of his wings, Ares took to the air. Draco watched his form fade into the inky black.

A voice sounded from behind him. "I am sure, Mr. Malfoy, that there is a perfectly innocent explanation for your correspondence with Mr. Potter…directly after a secret meeting." Draco whirled. Snape was regarding him coolly from the kitchen doorway, hands still clasped behind him back.

"That is none of your business," he returned, defiance rising suddenly in his gut. Snape was always _lingering_, popping up unexpectedly like some sort of wraith.

"On the contrary," Snape replied, irritatingly unruffled by his tone. "As we just heard, I have received a promotion. It is now _exactly_ my business to concern myself with the health of Hogwarts students." The trace of sarcasm was back, and Draco wondered at it. "And make no mistake, Mr. Malfoy," Snape continued, "if the Dark Lord were to discover that you are informing Mr. Potter of his plans, your health would be very much affected."

Draco's blood went cold. He was silent for a moment, weighing his words. If Snape chose to go to the Dark Lord…. He was right that the Dark Lord would not look kindly on a traitor. And even the little he had written would tell Potter _something_. That the Dark Lord had plans for Hogwarts, which meant the Ministry must fall before the start of term. But Potter must know that already, if he had any sense at all….

He forced himself to breathe deeply. And then he met Snape's eyes, forcing himself not to flinch, not to betray the fear he felt, and said carefully, deliberately, "And how would _your_ health be affected, Professor, if the Dark Lord were to discover that you saved Remus Lupin's life over Little Whinging? That you tried to kill one of ours to do it?"

It was a gamble, and he knew it. He'd seen Snape aim his wand, and for an instant, he'd had the crazy thought that it was pointed at the Death Eater whose wand had been trained on Lupin's back. Now, he caught a look of surprise flit across Snape's features. It was only the briefest of moments, but it was all Draco needed to be certain. The Professor hadn't just hit the false Potter; he'd _missed_ the other Death Eater. He _had_ been aiming for him. But _why_? Why did he want to save _Lupin_, of all people?

Snape recovered quickly, but when he spoke again, his voice had taken on a new, icy edge. All the irony had gone out of it. "I don't know what you're talking about. I didn't save Remus Lupin's life, and I certainly didn't try to kill one of ours."

Armed with the knowledge that he'd hit the mark, Draco replied levelly, even managing a smirk. "Yes," he said. "And I didn't send a letter to Potter."

They were at an impasse. Snape wouldn't dare go to the Dark Lord about the letter, not when they both knew what the first words out of Draco's mouth would be. Draco realized how unbelievably reckless he'd been in sending the letter. If it had been anyone else – Dolohov or Bellatrix or Rodolphus or any of the others – who discovered him, he would be cowering before the Dark Lord at this very moment.

"Take care whom you threaten, Mr. Malfoy," Snape added lowly, dangerously.

Draco paused. "Take care whom _you_ do," he replied, and then started for the door.

Just as he drew up level to the professor, Snape's hand shot out and closed around Draco's upper arm. "You will not be able to save her," he hissed.

Draco wrenched his arm away in surprise. "_What?_" he spat challengingly.

But Snape knew he had heard, and he didn't repeat himself. They stared at each other for a beat, and then Draco pushed past him and out of the kitchen.

He kept his back ramrod straight and his face impassive until he had mounted the stairs, crossed the hall, and entered his room. Then he leaned back against the wall and ran his hands roughly over his face. _You will not be able to save her._ The comment had come out of no where. It seemed Snape was more perceptive than Draco had given him credit for.

_But he knew nothing_, Draco thought savagely, pushing off the door. He moved into the adjoining toilet and began tugging at the knot of his tie. When it finally loosened, he flung it away, then leaned over the sink, breathing hard.

_Snape knew nothing._ He could never understand why Draco had done what he'd done. Ginny certainly didn't. But it was the only way to save her. His mind traced the reasoning; it was a well-worn path – _not _because he was uncertain, he insisted to himself, but because it was true. If the Dark Lord won, he could use whatever influence he had to save Ginny's life. And if Potter won, her life wouldn't need to be saved. Potter loved her – was _in love_ with her. He probably hadn't admitted it to her – for someone who'd never experienced anything but love and adulation, Scarhead had always been bizarrely emotionally stunted. In fact, Draco doubted he'd even admitted it to himself.

It was a good plan, Draco thought determinedly – the only one that would work. _Unless_ – unless Ginny fucked it up by ignoring his warning and waltzing back into Hogwarts and the Carrows' waiting arms.

But no, even if Ginny was reckless enough to want to go back to school after what he'd just told her…Potter loved her.

Draco just hoped to Merlin he loved her enough to stop her.

* * *

><p>"<em>Hell<em>," she said with feeling. "How could they…?" she broke off. Finally, she turned to look at him. "So that's what it was? The room with the low ceiling that I saw when we were practicing Occlumency? That's where they _kept_ you?"

"Yeah," Harry mused. "The cupboard under the stairs." He didn't seem angry though, just resigned, even a little amused. She felt a stab of pity for him. To be loved by the entire wizarding world and not know it….

"How could Dumbledore do it?" she asked.

"He knew it was the only place I'd be safe."

She snorted. "Oh, really? And how many near death experiences have you had? Five? Ten? A million?"

He laughed. "Feels like that sometimes, doesn't it? But those all happened at Hogwarts."

"Merlin…." She drew her legs up to her chest and rubbed her hands absentmindedly over the backs of her pajama pants. Little clouds of dust and wood shavings blew out onto the air. "Remind me why you keep going back?"

He was silent for a beat too long, and she looked up sharply. Then it clicked. "You're not going back to school, are you?" she said. "You're leaving."

He regarded her seriously for a moment, green eyes pitch black in the darkness of the shed. And then he gave a short nod. She swallowed. She supposed she should have figured it out earlier. There was no way Harry would go back to school now that Dumbledore was dead. Everything – this whole _war_ – was coming to a head, and the thought of Harry twiddling his thumbs in Scotland and studying for his N.E.W.T.S. was absolutely ludicrous. It seemed obvious now.

"Where?" she asked.

"I don't know yet."

Ginny pushed a stray lock of hair out of her face. Over the past few nights, she'd spent hours planning how to approach Harry – how to convince him to let him help her with whatever it was he and Ron and Hermione were planning. She'd been over and over a dozen different conversations. But now they all flew out of her mind. Instead, she heard herself blurt out, "I'm coming with you."

He didn't even pause. "No," he said flatly.

She felt anger flare unexpectedly in her chest. She'd known he wouldn't agree straight off, but she'd expected him to at least consider it, to give her a fair hearing. "I'm coming, Harry," she repeated, voice harder this time.

"No," he said again, clearly and deliberately. He kept his eyes fixed on hers, unflinching.

"I'm not going to just sit around," she started, "while you and Ron and Hermione go and –"

"You don't even know what we're going to be doing."

"Well, what _are_ you going to be doing?" she challenged, her voice rising despite herself.

"You know I can't tell you that, Ginny."

"You don't trust me, is that it?" she snapped. She could hear how bitter and petulant she sounded. But right now, she found she didn't care. She was so tired of being kept in the dark, of being lied to….

"Of course I trust you," Harry snapped back. "I trusted you long before anybody else did."

"Then what?"

"You're sixteen, Ginny!"

"Oh, for Merlin's sake. I'm not a child!"

"You don't need to be a child to still have the Trace on you, Ginny!" he said loudly, "And you sure as hell don't have to be a child to die!"

Her retort caught in her throat. She'd only heard Harry raise his voice once before, the night Bellatrix Lestrange had killed Sirius Black. At that realization, all of the anger went out of her. She hesitated, swallowing hard. "Harry," she began finally, her voice a whisper now. "I –"

"No, Ginny!" he continued over her, his voice echoing in the small space. "People die when they're around me – they die trying to save me, they die trying to protect me, they die trying to help me – they bloody _die_. And I'm not having your death on my conscience too, Ginny. If something happened to you, I couldn't –" He stopped short, breathing hard. Finally, after a long moment, he pushed his fingers through his hair. "Not yours," he added more softly.

When he was finished, the silence was deafening. Ginny was stunned to stillness. She could hear her own heartbeat. She was pretty sure she could hear _his_.

In his agitation, he had leaned forward off the wall. Now, he collapsed back against it and rubbed his hands roughly over his face. He groaned into his palms. "I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice muffled.

"No," she said. The word came out cracked and coarse. She cleared her throat. "No," she repeated. She shifted, closing the space between them, and leaned her body against his side and her head against his shoulder. He stiffened in surprise, his hands coming away from his face. But then, after a beat, he repositioned himself. His right arm encircled her. Her cheek leaned more comfortably against his chest. Now she really _could_ hear his heartbeat, pounding out a rhythm against her skin.

"_Hell_, Harry," she breathed.

His arm tightened around her in a brief squeeze, and she felt him lean down and press a gentle kiss to her hair.

"Oh, don't feel _too_ sorry for me, Weasley," he said, his voice light now. "It was a pretty fantastic cupboard." She hadn't been talking about the cupboard, and he knew it, but she appreciated the effort. She remembered the night on the Quidditch pitch last year, when they'd been talking about Tom. "Too grim," she'd said. The two of them were always too bloody grim.

"Oh, shut up, Potter," she replied. He laughed lightly, and she smiled.

* * *

><p>"<em>Moooorning<em>."

Ginny woke with a start. For the first time in weeks, she'd been dead asleep, and it took her a second to get her bearings. She was turned on her side, her head pillowed on Harry's chest and her right leg hooked over his. Right – she reminded herself – they'd fallen asleep in the shed.

She raised herself halfway to a sitting position. The shed was blindingly bright, sunlight streaming in through the two dusty windows set in the far wall and the open door beside them. Merlin, what time was it? She squinted up at the figure silhouetted in the threshold. "Bloody hell, George," she grumbled, still trying to blink away the sleep.

Beside her, Harry was stirring too. He ran a hand over his eyes and had just begun to speak when he noticed her brother. He jerked upright, drawing his hand away from her so quickly that his fingers got caught in her hair. She swore, turning back to him. He mumbled a hasty apology and dislodged himself from the tangle. His cheeks were bright red, and she gave an amused snort.

"Well, I'm glad you're not acting guilty or anything, Potter," she quipped. She turned to George. He was leaning casually against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest and a peeled orange held loosely in one hand. He was grinning broadly, like he'd just discovered Christmas come early.

She gave him a wide smile. "Nothing to see here, George," she said, standing and brushing some of the dirt off her clothes.

"Oh, really? I could've sworn I saw _something_."

"Mm, must be that nasty head injury," she returned, nodding at the strip of dressing tied at an angle around his head.

He reached up and gave the spot where his left ear had been an affectionate pat. "Perhaps, perhaps," he mused. "You know," he added, popping an orange slice into his mouth, "next time you sneak out, you might consider leaving a note. Mum's nearly blown a gasket."

"Bloody hell," Harry said from where he was straightening his own clothing. Ginny started for the door, and he followed.

"Don't worry, Harry," George said, pushing off the doorframe as they passed. He slung an arm around Harry's shoulders as they walked. "She'd never disembowel you on your birthday." Ginny turned back to roll her eyes at him, and he laughed.

They came within sight of the house. Ron and Hermione were standing near the front door, deep in conversation. They looked deathly serious. Hermione looked up and nudged Ron as they approached. The pair watched them cross the lawn, a mixture of relief and confusion evident on their faces.

"By the way," George said, "letters came for you overnight. Very mysterious, aren't you?"

Ginny's eyebrows went up – who would be writing to _both_ of them? But George's next comment drove all surprise at the letters out of her mind.

"Also, I should have mentioned," he added brightly, "_you_ have a visitor, Harry."

"Who?"

"Only Scrimgeour," he said, biting into another orange slice. "Imagine – the Minister of Magic himself enjoying the modest comforts of _our_ sitting room."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Phew, this is the longest chapter yet - BY FAR. 8,500 words! I was going to split it into two and post the first half a few days ago, but I decided that it all fit together better as a single chapter. Plus, I wanted to get this summer done in one. Next time, our favorite frustrating friends will finally get their reunion. Please review!


End file.
